Kindred Darkness
by InsertDefinitivePersonaHere
Summary: A mortal from a noble house is born with the soul of a dragon, who then pledges it to a life of unending servitude to a Daedric Prince. Shouldering a destiny he tires of carrying, he scarce thought the darkness that binds him could bring him solace, understanding, even... love. Follows Dawnguard DLC, with a Dragonborn that actually tries.
1. Ascent

He couldn't have picked a worse time to climb.

Arcturus wrapped his cloak about him, fighting the urge to shiver against the chilling wind. An unholy amount of snowflakes, driven by the sideswiping gale, crept under his hood and insisted on latching onto his eyes. He found it increasingly difficult to balance his struggle against the wind, watch his step on the straight, narrow path, and retake his vision from the snow at the same time, all the while keeping his senses on high alert any danger in waiting.

_At least it's still bright out. _The thought flashed through his mind, taking his mind off his immediate discomfort with the rationale behind it. He shifted his back, so that the tapered edge of his bow, Fang, nudged against his lower calf. He raised his head to the bright Skyrim sun shining overhead, and the combined presence of his bow and his ray of sunshine bore away some of the chill in his limbs, although it was not enough to coax his guard down. He knew better than that, especially with Isran's words fresh in his memory.

_When it comes to vampires, if you're sloppy or careless, you're dead. And good people will die because of you._

He was not overtly fond of being lectured, but as someone who has also had his fair share dealing with creatures of the night, he recognised the truth in Isran's words. They may look human, but behind their gleaming orange eyes burned unnatural strength, primal cunning and an overwhelming desire to slake their thirst of blood, all of which tailor-made to put them in a dominating position over normal men and mer.

But, as the wind shifted directions and brought to Arcturus the scent of raw, red, human blood, he whispered under his breath, his mind briefly dwelling on how 'normal' could not, and would never apply to him.

"_Laas,_" he whispered, closing his eyes as the power of the Thu'um rushed through him, pinpointing to him a lone sentient being at the end of his intended path. At once, he discerned both similarity and difference – similarity being his sensing of conscious, independent thought emanating from the being; difference being his detection of a slight offness to its life force. To his mind's eye, its presence was undeniable but at the same time slightly… alien.

He dropped immediately to a crouch, aware of the crunch of his boots and his heavy breathing giving away his position. The sideswiping mountain wind, after falling silent for several moments, kicked up again, and this time Arcturus was grateful to have it mask his footfalls. Truth be told, he was somewhat glad this particular vampire had shown itself, heedless of the weather. It told him he was on the right track, and that this was indeed the place of interest Vigilant Tolan spoke of – Dimhollow Crypt.

The thrill of the hunt, regardless of the somewhat unusual game, warmed Arcturus from within. He kept a pinpoint on his complacent prey long after the mental imprint of the Thu'um faded. A particularly tall section of outcropped rock shielded his section of the path from the vampire's heightened eyesight, but he kept a respectable distance nevertheless – with the extreme contrast his armour and cloak made against the snow, it would not take much to spot him, even amidst Reaching behind his back, he retrieved Fang and a quiver of Elven arrows, strung it, and fit one of the well-honed shafts to string.

_Line of sight, _his mind cautioned.

He blinked, and then he smiled as an elaborate solution eliminated the need for a frontal engagement that he abhorred, especially against such a formidable opponent.

"_Ven,_" he whispered again, this time calling to the howling, chilling wind. The singular word was not enough for him to wrestle control of Skyrim's weather from the Divines, or Kynareth in particular, but it granted him insight on the strength and speed of it and foresight on the direction of the drafts yet to come,

He raised his bow high and to the right, opposite to the turn in the snow-blanketed path so that his eyes stared off into the skies above. He pulled the bowstring taut against his face, the razor-thin edge chafing his cheek. He dug his heels in firmly, holding his crouch and his arm.

"Now all we need is one… little…" he murmured, an undue amount of tension welling up in his complete stillness.

A sudden gust of wind assaulted his right flank, nearly throwing him off balance.

"Breeze," he finished, and let the arrow fly.

It did not fly straight and true, and he was lucky it didn't.

The momentum from the bow expended itself after the arrow flew about five feet off of the mountain ridge and twenty of the ground, and a squinting Arcturus barely saw the arrow take a sharp left turn after its doomed struggle against the wind. It stayed within his perception for only the slightest of moments, moving with incredible speed. He strained his ears for an indication of his marksmanship, but he surrendered that to the fey whistles in the air.

_Do vampires even have death throes? _He wondered briefly to himself. If he had missed entirely, the vampire surely did not notice it, as he heard neither footsteps nor alarms being raised.

_That'll teach you for trying stunts when there's real prey involved. _He shook himself and nocked another arrow, pushing away his lingering doubts on facing a vampire directly. Creeping forward, he closed several feet before rising above the barrier of rock. He sprang to his feet, bow strained and eyes firm on the spot he last remembered the vampire to be…

…and allowed himself a faint smile when he saw a High Elf attired in outlandish, yet somewhat regal robes pinned against the rock face, a bloodied shaft of Elven make protruding from one of her dull, lifeless orange eyes. Her fangs were visible in the confines of her gaping mouth, and between them a trickle of crimson made its contrast with the bone-white snow. From the lack of embellishments on her armour and her station out in the frigid landscape, Arcturus put her as little more than an unfortunate thrall graced with vampirism. Even so, it took him some moments to convince himself that the danger was past, and the dusky gleam in her eyes was just nerves and paranoia.

_Being dead doesn't mean one can't still be threatening, _he mused, eyeing the sharp, tapered fangs. His eyes shifted to the arrow firmly lodged in her skull, reminding himself of his depleting quiver. His hand reached out, as if to pull it from her flesh, but then thought better than it and instead brushed a fleeting caress across the lifeless woman's cheek.

"Keep it." He murmured, returning his attention to the narrow passage carved into the rock, its inky darkness leading into the bowels of the mountain and, almost certainly, more vampires. And yet, while the blindness of the dark, and the nightmares often found within, would deter most men, he was no stranger to it.

Arcturus brushed his hood back with one hand, ridding himself of the snowflakes that have gathered in his hair. His other hand gripped Fang tightly, the screams of spilled blood rushing forth from the dark depths and breaking over him in a tidal wave. But he did not hesitate nor back away. His free hand ran to the center of his chest, and his fingers traced the shapes of a proud, yet sinister nightbird, cradling the full moon within its wings.

_Night among strangers. Whispers in the dark._

_Walk always among shadow, Nightingale. _He almost heard a woman's voice, smooth as silk but deceptive of deep, dark enigmas, call to him.

He crossed the threshold between light and dark, and the shadows embraced him until he was seen no longer.


	2. Full Dark

/Thank you, everyone, for your staggering amounts of support! I did not expect so many to take a liking to my story so quickly!

PartySpaz and T-B-R: Thank you! I'm sorry to say that, while I would like nothing more than to delve into the story with gusto, real life has a tendency of putting things on hold for at least a little bit. I'll do my best to remain consistent, but I'd like to try putting out short and regular chapters. Hope you'll enjoy it either way!

Danish Existence: I understand where you're coming from! It takes a lot of imagination and effort to translate a button push in the game to what a living, breathing person does in reality. I dwell on that stuff far too much :) It's the only thing keeping me sane.

SgtGinger: Praise the Divines for the arrow-in-the-knee jokes! I always murder the guard who says that, then bribe the other with 500 gold, Thieve's Guild rate. I like to think I double-check my work before publishing it, but sometimes even that's not enough. It shouldn't be anything story-breaking though, unless I go really blind.

lurker: May I call you lurker? Or would you prefer something more stylish, with more flair? I digress. THANK YOU. You do not know how completely my day was made when I saw your review. Fear not, the muse is still there, and should reside for an extended period of time. I would say I value quality over quantity and frequency, but that would be a bit tongue-in-cheek. I know I'd like to write more often.

But enough about me, back to the story!/

"Fan out! Watch the doorways!" Lokil barked, his sight swinging every which way. The muscles in his right arm twitched as he tightened his grip on the steel mace in his hand, his mind already abuzz with the notion of bludgeoning whoever it was that shot his lieutenant clean between the eyes.

His thralls complied soundlessly, save for the feral snarls between their lips when their eyes met once again the prone form of Lokil's right hand, a tall, hardy Nord with an arrow protruding from just above his nose, staring lifelessly at the roof of the cavern. One of them growled under his breath, the flames at his hands flaring dangerously.

_Save your magic for when you can see him, whelp. _Lokil almost shouted. Simpletons, all of them.

Lokil caught the scent of a human in their midst, mundane and weak, hiding in some obscure corner of the cavern. He lifted his voice in challenge.

"I can taste your fear, human! It won't be long before we find you! Come out, and I'll grant you a quick death." He shouted at no one in particular, fighting off a smile as he savoured the deceit dripping from the words he had spoken. He'll enjoy it even more when he had the human at his feet, begging for mercy, when he could take him back to the castle and drain him of his life, drop by delicious drop. The thought of blood sent strength surging through him, and he continued his search with renewed fervor.

The twang of a bowstring, imperceptible save to the keenest of listeners, sounded to his right. Lokil whirled round, shielding himself with his mace.

One of the light-giving torches fell to the ground, fizzling out as the water at Lokil's feet doused it. The cavern darkened, and Lokil found himself grinning from ear to ear.

"Is that the best you could do, mortal?" He taunted.

There came another twang, this time from his left. The torch directly across from him fell and went out.

Lokil laughed. "I suggest you end this foolish game and beg for mercy now, mortal. Darkness is no stranger to us!"

Two additional pinpricks of sound, rapid in succession, were heard. The remaining torches fell, sputtered, and winked out.

Dimhollow Crpyt, untouched by sun nor moon, was plunged into complete darkness, and Lokil had to squint to make out the pillars, walls and the faint, moving silhouettes of his thralls, still obstinately guarding the entrances. One of them, a sprightly Breton named Lea, had the good sense of conjuring a werelight. The arcane light source hovered just above her, illuminating sections of the cave previous untouched by torchlight.

"Lea," Lokil called to her, "check there." He gestured at where he thought he heard the shots come from – a nook carved in the rocks between the two entrances that the torches did not reach.

He watched, suddenly tense, as the short Breton vampire made her way towards the hiding spot, step by cautious step. She was careful, more mindful. Lokil liked that about her.

With a flash of motion, Lea conjured another bright sphere of light, although she did not hold it by her side. Lokil watched, unmoving, as the gleaming sphere rocketed towards the cavern wall and planted itself firmly on it, the magicka thrown behind the spell giving off enough light to beggar comparison to the sun itself. Lokil squinted; he couldn't imagine how powerful the sudden blast of luminescence would be to the hapless human hiding behind the rocks.

He half-expected Lea to raise the dagger in her hand or use her fangs, but when he saw her turn away from the nook with doubtful eyes, he felt the slightest twinge of unease in his chest.

That was a split second before he spotted the dark shadow behind Lea. He called out to her, but he was too late.

There came a muffled scream as a black glove closed around Lea's mouth, silencing her while her back arched, much like what Lokil had seen her do the night before, when his feeding brought out a different, more base, urge of his.

This time, however, he saw all too clearly the crimson staining the front of Lea's robes and the telltale gleam of black steel protruding from her chest. He heard all too clearly the wet _squelch _of blood as her ambusher unsheathed his blade from her body, discarding her without so much as a flinch.

He saw, all too clearly, the haughty gleam in the ink-black cloaked figure's piercing blue eyes, and the moon-and-nightbird brooch on his chest, before Lea's light went out and the cavern was wreathed in darkness once again.

He roared with fury and heard his comrades echo his call. He hefted his mace and threw it with all his might, aiming at last where he saw his enemy.

A clear thud told him the mace had missed its mark, and now he was unarmed. He retreated towards his thralls, ducking when he heard the twin plucking of bowstrings, weaving a melody of death as the Nord and Imperial vampires he had not bothered to acquaint himself with cried out and gurgled. The arrows snapped when they fell, faces down, their tips still embedded within flesh.

A crimson veil descended over Lokil's sight. Adrenaline, prompted by the immediate danger he found himself in and tempered by the rage coursing through his veins, sharpened his senses. He saw the beginnings of movement amidst the sea of darkness, but it was not enough. He may be a vampire, but he still needed a source of light, however small, to augment his sight.

"I know what you are, Nightingale!" Lokil shouted, clenching his fists powerlessly. "Stop hiding behind your mistress's skirts and face me! Or are you too much of a coward, _thief_?"

For a moment, silence reigned in Dimhollow Crypt. For Lokil, it was almost unbearable.

A sinister chuckle crept from the shadows.

"Very well."

A shadow of a man materialised not two feet from Lokil. His stature matched his memory of Lea's killer perfectly.

Lokil dug his heels into the ground and leapt forward, baring his fangs in a ferocious snarl. His hands, more talons than fingers, closed in on the shadow's throat. He allowed himself a brief moment of savage glee; he almost felt his fingers sinking into his flesh, and he would not stop until he was rent from top to bottom, his blood drained to slake his thirst.

The Nightingale's figure distorted before his eyes, as if seen through disturbed waters.

His fingers closed and gripped nothing but air.

Lokil barely had time to brace himself as his intangible prey left him off-balance and falling. He felt his breath being knocked from his lungs, but it was not enough to deter him. He rolled round to face his enemy...

But the Nightingale was already gone.

Indeed, in place of where he stood, only still, blank darkness remained. Lokil snarled in frustration and got to his feet, never taking his eyes off of the spot where his devious adversary once stood lest he reemerge from the shadows.

He heard a whisper of air behind him shortly before an icy chill erupted from his spine. It was painless, almost without feeling save for the cold. He spun round, fighting his body's reaction to the cold while lashing out with his talon-like fingers.

He caught the glimpse of a lean, hooded woman directly behind him, her barely recognisable arm burying a dagger in his back. His swiping upper arm came into contact with the spot where her head should be, passing through skin, flesh and bone without resistance.

His eyes widened in disbelief as her head exploded, soundlessly, into a cloud of black smoke, blending in with the shadows. Moments later, darkness came forward and claimed her headless body as well.

The dagger was gone, but the pain remained.

Lokil gasped as an implosion of cold took hold of his body, wrenching what little warmth remaining in his limbs from him and clenching his muscles. Even the pain it should have caused was taken from him, numbed by the unnatural chill besetting him from within, growing stronger and freezing more of him with every heartbeat.

Still, he refused to relent.

He bared his fangs and roared his challenge with what breath he had left, making the spacious cavern ring with his final act of defiance. The air rippled, the shadows blown back, and Lokil felt pride melt away the ice in his veins, burning away the ethereal dagger's wound.

The shadows writhed once more, assuming the shape of the Nightingale that had slain his men and jeopardised his mission. He held a sleek Elven bow, painted black, in his hands, an Elven shaft fit to string.

Lokil felt the fire inside him burn all the brighter. He saw through his facade; he'll just have to cut every last one of these apparitions down until the Nightingale could not conjure any more. "I have no fear of your tricks, Nightingale! Your arrows cannot harm me!" He started towards him with wide, sure steps, certain that the arrows would pass right through him, leaving behind a cold mark he could easily ignore.

He heard the apparition chuckle.

They never made any sound.

"Think again."

The arrow slammed into him, the shallow, sharp whistle it made while arcing through the air belying its force as it struck him dead center, putting him to a dead halt.

He felt the familiar stench of blood fill his nostrils as the shaft pierced his heart, painting his crude leather armor a deep crimson within seconds. He fell to his knees, suddenly bereft of strength to remain standing. Darkness encroached upon the corners of his vision, and he saw the shadows writhe, warp and shift before his eyes.

He barely acknowledged the Nightingale as he approached him with calm, purposeful steps, fit another arrow to string, and took aim with its tip less than an inch away from his skull.

His head snapped back. Darkness took over. He felt nothing at all.


	3. Rise

Arcturus bent and yanked an arrow from Lokil's chest, stealing a glance at his face as he did. The expression etched upon it was one of shock and disbelief, as if the vampire had not even the time to feel the pain of its death.

_A quick death. _He thought.

_He did not deserve a quick death._

He grabbed the torch beside one of the four pillars, relighting it with a wick of flame at his fingertip. He held it aloft, letting light replace the near-absolute darkness of Dimhollow Crypt. The lonely torchlight, robbed of its other three brethren, burned its brightest, but only succeeded in illuminating the center of the cavern, which included the four stone pillars, the circular stone ring on top of them, and a thin iron spike planted at the very center. He reached out and gave the spike a tug, but it would not give. His index finger, when brushed against the tip of the spike, revealed it to be razor-sharp and fully capable of drawing blood.

"What is it with vampires and blood?" He murmured, hovering his palm atop the spike, then thought better of it and pulled back. Why risk impaling your hand on an iron spike of vampiric origin when you didn't know what ends it would lead to?

"_Jun._" He whispered, and staggered backwards when a starburst of golden light erupted from the center of the cavern, directly under the spike he had discovered, blinding him with the sudden contrast. He shielded himself from the light with his arm, but the Thu'um would have none of it. Even behind the lids of his eyes, the light shone with the intensity of a sun, and he gritted his teeth as he willed the magic augmenting his vision to cease.

_Impossible, _he thought, wiping at his eyes as tears trickled from his eyelids, making the light's imprint dance across his vision. The word should have amplified visible light, and he was fairly certain stonemasons do not bury stars underground. He scrambled for an explanation as his sight recovered, one hand reaching for the reassuring feeling of Fang between his fingers.

_Wait._

He froze.

_Jun means light. And _king_._

He hated the Thu'um sometimes.

His eye reopened, falling upon the decidedly suspicious-looking spike, placed dead center in the middle of the four pillars. If anything, its positioning spoke of its importance. He approached it once again, his soft footsteps sounding like drumbeats in the comparative silence of the cavern. He had lingered here for far too long, and the cavern was far too quiet. He looked about, feeling watched, and he unslung Fang from his back as he found two pairs of dead, stony eyes staring at him. They were mounted atop grotesque, horned faces with hunched-back, muscular bodies and wiry limbs. He saw, with the very limit of his sight, furled wings tucked behind them.

_Gargoyles._

_ Guardians of the damned._

He need not look to know there were two more behind him, perched atop the doorway from which he had come. His heartbeat quickened, but his blood ran all the more colder for every cycle it made around his system. He forced himself to remember the stories and the tall tales he had heard.

_The watchdogs of Coldharbour._

_Bound souls of dead vampires, sanctioned by Molag Bal to remain on Nirn, in servitude to his mortal servants._

"And his mortal servants would be..." he muttered to himself, already dreading the answer surfacing from his memories.

_Vampire Lords._

_ Jun._

The light under solid stone.

At least now he knew what Lokil was after, and he knew what that nugget of information meant. The Dawnguard would not stand to let a Vampire Lord, wakeful or dormant, live. As with their rarity, they were far more powerful than an average vampire, having received their 'gift' from the Daedric Prince Molag Bal himself. Skyrim, torn apart by the civil war, had her own problems. She did not need a rogue Vampire Lord wreaking havoc on her people, be they Imperials or Stormcloaks.

_But I'm not about to start digging a hole._

He turned his attention away from the anxiety of being watched by four gargoyles, and instead focused on the long, tapered iron spike in front of him. He was certain it would have some part to play in releasing the slumbering vampire from his grave, but he did not know how. Not yet.

The metal was cold to the touch, even through the insulation of his gloves. In the dim lighting, he could not make out the features on the spike by sight, so he put his faith in his tingling sense of touch. And sure enough, there it was - a thin, v-shaped indent carved into the spike, gouging about halfway into its circumference all the way up to its razor-sharp tip.

_A channel. For blood. _He surmised, retracting his hand. But it was too simple. Whoever had built this would not have fashioned so elaborate a lock, and match it with a key that flowed through men and mer alike. An errant grave robber could have stumbled onto the spike, cut himself on it, and released the vampire into the world with naught but a small nick on his thumb.

The solution came to him quickly, and he was not at all put off by what it entailed.

He walked over to where Lokil's prone form lay, lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The tips of his fangs showed beneath his open lips, adding a dash of unfounded ferocity to an otherwise harmless spectacle. Crouching beside him, Arcturus was careful to avoid his face entirely as he snaked an arm underneath the dead Nord, grunting when the thick wolfskin drape added to the heavyset man's weight.

He slung Lokil over his shoulder and swung to face the spike. He thought he saw light bounce off of the tip, giving off a wicked gleam. He averted his eyes. The gargoyles were watching too.

"Time to make yourself useful," he muttered to Lokil, who stayed, thankfully, silent.

With a single heaving motion, he threw Lokil's body onto the tip of the spike, hip-first. The shaft bore through his flesh with a wet _squelch_, piercing flesh and bone and ultimately skin, the tip emerging from the pit of Lokil's stomach covered in blood that was such a steep red it seemed comical.

But the tip was not all. There was still the entire spike beneath.

And the blood.

It flowed with a will of its own, a hairsbreadth of red trickling from the dead vampire, gliding effortlessly from tip to base, following the line in the metal in an almost ritualistic precision. Arcturus found that interesting. For all intents and purposes, the hole in Lokil should be gushing with blood, bathing the entire spike and more. And yet, as the flow reached the base and started tracing a crimson circle around the round stone block at his feet, he realised the ritual, if he could call it that, was a lot less bloody than he had imagined it to be.

He shook himself mentally when the circle carved in stone became wholly red, his mind shifting from idle wondering to active thinking. What was next? The blood flow seemed to have stopped, but the blood still looked as if in motion, winking at his eyes in lieu of the poor lighting, as if daring him to guess. He reached for the quiver at his back and retrieved a single arrow, but did not fit it to string yet. Whatever came next, he would only need one.

He took a step backwards when the ground itself moved, the large slab of stone in front of him rising from the earth, taking the spike on top with it in a gentle spiral. To Arcturus, it seemed almost graceful, as if he was watching a lithe dancer at the height of her performance, turning on the tips of her toes to the sounds of both minstrel and bard. As his imaginary performance glided, step by miniscule step, to a tall crescendo, he felt the echoes of the Thu'um call to him. His eyes spied faint gleams of golden light, seeping through cracks in the round and otherwise unblemished stone sarcophagus as it continued to spiral upwards, until the red-rimmed edge was at his forehead.

He felt something stir within, and he fit the arrow he had in his fingers to string, locking it in place on Fang with a hooked piece of wire he had fastened behind the tip. He took a deep breath, noticing how still the air had become. His aim was unwavering as he pulled back, bringing the bowstring to his cheek, the smooth, groomed feathers between his thumb and index finger tickling the skin.

And he fought from gasping when he felt something else.

A burst of vibrant red, pulsating once from within the stone tomb, sowing doubt and confusion that threatened to stay his hand. He knew what it signified, and he did not - _could _not - believe what the Thu'um was telling him.

_Las._

Life.

The section of curved stone directly in front of him fell away, dropping into the blank darkness where the sarcophagus used to be. Arcturus's arm twitched, unable to decide to raise or lower his bow, nocked and readied, when he saw what lay within.

He felt his heart stop when he saw her entombed within, her eyes held shut by long lashes that shared their hue with her cheek-length raven locks, tousled with a millennia of imprisonment. His eyes unwittingly trailed her face, taking in her pale, pursed lips and lean jaw, and he couldn't decide between them making her attractive, or merely highlighting her vampiric ancestry by shielding her youthful features from the ravages of time.

Then his eyes wandered, falling to the red-and-black Alessian leather that had warded her from the chill of Dimhollow Crypt for centuries beyond count. The gleam from a brooch at her collarbone, forged in fine gold, caught his eye, and he was shocked to recognise the emblem it wrought.

Clan Volkihar.

A family of Breton-Nord half-bloods who claimed their wealth and power through exploiting one of the most dangerous and impossible shipping lanes along the northern shores of Skyrim, then vanished without a trace thousands of years ago.

Another gleam from behind the young woman wrenched his attention from his dim recollection of histories, and this time it stole his breath away.

Behind the vampire's back was an ornate, gold-rimmed handle.

Of an Elder Scroll.

The woman's eyes furrowed, blinking awake. She fell forwards, barely catching herself on her hands and knees. Arcturus brought his bow up, but his hands have long since lost the will to shoot.

The woman looked up, a soft groan escaping her lips. He thought he saw the tips of her fangs between them.

She looked at him, with eyes that burned with a bright, unnatural orange, and he had to fight to stay on his feet when he looked into them and found not only the inhumanity of a vampire, but also the confusion, fear and helplessness of a human, of a human woman.

Her lips moved, parting slightly. He saw no fangs.

"Well, good morning to you too." She said.


	4. Captive

/Hai!

I'm thrilled with all the feedback you've all given me! No, really! It just didn't translate into quicker writing on my part. Sorry for the long wait!

SgtGinger: I'm glad you like Arcturus! He's my first character that I've actually written a bio for, and I hope you like the way I'm going with him. I'm also very glad with the falling-in-love-with-story part too ^^

LoneFox: Oh one every day is very much enough for my frail little heart, my good sir. Any more and I might not be able to take it! Thanks for your encouragement, and here it is!

RatedR + Stone: BAM, fresh out of the oven!

Danish Existence: I'm glad you enjoyed the perspective change. Here's another one! I hope I'm not overdoing here, but I feel like a bit more leading on, a bit more mystery from another's eyes would hit the spot for the mystique I have in mind for Arcturus. That said, the wiki was pretty dry on Dawnguard history, so I'm putting together the timeline in my head. Don't be surprised if mistakes appear!

Bleh what am I going on about. Enjoy!/

It was the throbbing that woke her.

Serana had always had a problem with sleep. She could not fall asleep for too long, or risk the feeling of an icicle being shoved into her skull, radiating a dull ache that renewed itself when her heart beat. It was much more manageable after her turning, as the thirst would more often than not wake her up when the night was at its darkest.

Such was not the case in this instance.

Light stung her eyes when she tried to open them, and she barely felt the coarse texture of the stone beneath her hands over the drumbeats in her head. She must have been inside the tomb for longer than she expected. She felt her muscles wince in protest as she struggled to keep her face above the stone.

Her throat was parched.

Already, she felt them sliding out behind her lips, smooth and slightly curving into her own mouth. Her jaw itched. It took every ounce of her willpower to decide against stretching it, for her senses told her she was not alone in her tomb.

_Control yourself! _She exclaimed, pushing the silent thought until it dominated her conscious mind. She felt her fangs retract, and the cracked sensation at the back of her throat intensified tenfold. She groaned. If it was Mother who woke her, she hoped she brought a snack.

She cracked open one eye, then the next, adjusting to the light source which she now identified as a torch mounted on a sconce. She paid that no mind, however, as her eyes, bleary and unfocused, came into contact with twin orbs of piercing blue that gleamed like sapphires, their normally scattered reflections boring into her with a united intensity that brought chill to her veins. And yet, even as her eyes struggled to make out the features of the person before her, she saw him stiffen at her groan and bring a golden gleam to bear on her.

She blinked to clear her eyes, but she didn't need her sight to feel the oppressive sensation of being held at the tip of an arrow. She swallowed drily, double-checking that her fangs were fully retracted before she spoke.

"Well, good morning to you too."

The man, as she had determined from a quick examination of his physique, remained silent. She noticed that he was clad completely in black, skin-tight garments that seemed to gravitate more towards concealing his identity than anything else, and she relinquished whatever false hope she had had for him to be one of her kin. Vampires needed no such disguises.

Still, she couldn't deny they lent to him quite a striking appearance, with the black cloth hood coming down just above his eyes, casting most of his features in shadow. It left only his blue eyes, gateways to depths that seemed to have no end, and she found it difficult to stare into them, lest she lost herself within.

So she ran her gaze downwards, gauging the appearance of the man before her with strained eyes. She found it oddly difficult to make out the shapes and sizes of the midnight-black scales his armour was composed of, from the broadness of his shoulders to the tips of his boots. It was as if they were fading in and out of the shadows, swallowing up his body until the tips of his fingers were all that remained.

And the bow. She could scarce forget the bow.

_And his eyes. _She thought idly. There was something about them that drew her eye, some mystical attraction that seemed to defy every ounce of restraint in her body.

_You're probably just hungry. _She settled with that explanation for now, for her eyes had caught, on the man's chest, something far more important.

A symbol. The moon and the crescent nightbird.

_Nocturnal._

_ A Nightingale? Here? _The trinity that served the Daedric Mistress of Darkness and Fortune may be akin to the vampires for their affinity for the night, but she was not aware of any alliance between the two. Still, a lot could have happened in... Well, she didn't even know how long she had slept inside this dank cave. It only served to complicate matters all the more.

"Just so you know, I'm actually awake, and I don't bite." She offered. Did he even speak her language? Was he a Nord? An Imperial? From the looks of his strong, wide jaw, she thought the two to be the only possibilities. Waking up had never been this confusing.

The man tensed at her words. Perhaps they were more on the same page than she thought.

"That... remains to be seen." He said, the lightheartedness in his voice startling her. His voice was soft, well-suited for a bard, and he might as well have been singing with that tone of his. "Why do you have that on your back?"

Oh, so he was the one who asked the questions. She hoped they were taking it in turns.

"Oh, that?" She pushed herself up, finding a portion of her old strength returning quickly. "That's-"

"I know it's an Elder Scroll. My question was, why do you have it with you?"

_Perhaps he's stolen one in the past. I wouldn't put it past him._

"It was put in my safekeeping." She answered. She was certainly not spilling her guts just yet.

"By whom?" He asked.

"My mother." She answered, finding it hard to look him in the eye with the arrow pointed at her skull. "Look, can you lighten up on the interrogation? I'm more than happy to answer your questions, but it's somewhat distracting doing it under pain of death."

He seemed to consider it, tilting his head ever so slightly. She could almost see the hesitation twinkling in his eyes, although his grip on his bow held steady.

"Fair enough." He eventually said, releasing the tension he held in his arms. "Just don't try anything."

"I can tell you right now, I'm more in the dark than you are." She sighed, casting her eyes about the cave's various faces. She sniffed. The scent of vampire blood was fresh as it curled through her nostrils. She craned her neck and saw the dangling arms of someone she recognised, the last drops of life drained from him for a second time.

"I suppose Lokil did not deign to sacrifice himself for me willingly?" She asked. From the brief moments she had known him under her father's service, it just did not seem to fit his character.

"One has his uses. This is perhaps one of his more practical ones. I do hope he was not of any importance to you." He crossed his arms, his blue eyes indecipherable under a veil of cynical humour.

"I knew him, but that was quite some time ago. Not even a thousand years can cure him of his uselessness, I see." She said, tapping her boot. They usually back out at the immortality bit, but she had a feeling he was different.

"I would think that to be quite established already." His tone betrayed no surprise. No surprises there. "A thousand years, you say? You must be feeling quite rested then."

"Actually it's quite the opposite. You should try it sometime." She said, wincing when her joints popped and cracked at the slightest movement. "I suppose you woke me for a reason?"

"I was curious. The vampires certainly went to a lot of trouble to wake you up, and I'd wager my last septim that their intentions do not bode well for mere mortals like me." She began to understand his air of nonchalance - the bow and arrow may not have been strung, but the seemingly idle hand at his side was there for a reason. If anything, the cloak hid it well, and his false sense of lax was even trickier.

"But you are much more than that, aren't you?" She said, unable to keep the knowing smirk off her face. "Nightingale?"

"Attractive _and _smart! Traits rarely seen together these days." He answered. She thought she saw a grin under the mask.

_And you're quite the charmer yourself. _She mused. She was thankful that she had not been vocal of that particular comment.

"Am I to be your trophy then?"

"I would consider it, if not for the fact that I am under the employment of someone else. Does the name _Dawnguard _ring any bells?"

She chuckled. "The name is quite self-explanatory."

"Intriguing," he said, looking at her with renewed interest. "You don't seem to mind being in the company of vampire hunters."

"Hey, what's with the discrimination? Some of us just want to live."

"By preying on innocent villagers and mentally-inert cultists?"

"We don't just drink blood. It just helps with digestion." She said. It was only mildly true.

"Whatever floats your boat, lady." He held up his free hand in dismissal for the briefest of moments. "I just thought you'd appreciate going somewhere else."

"Would it make a difference?" She asked, feeling an undue amount of satisfaction from their bantering. _Almost _too _undue._

He shrugged and moved over to one of the lifeless vampires. "Maybe a little." Crouching down, he rummaged for something at the corpse's waist, and turned back towards her with a rotund flask in hand. It was filled to the neck with a clear, red liquid, and her fangs threatened to slide out of their confines when she saw it. Her stomach rumbled. She hoped he didn't hear.

He approached her without breaking his stride and handed the flask to her. "So the villagers won't see you coming a mile away."

As she took the flask from him, her hands noticeably trembled, but it was not because of the thirst. She suddenly realised she was taking a liking to this captor of hers far too quickly, and her little epiphany kept her from noticing his unclasping his cloak.

"So the Imps and rebels don't jump on what you have on your back, and dragons don't come flying from all four corners of Skyrim." He said, holding it out to her. It took her some moments to wrap it round her shoulders and cover up the gilded handle almost a head higher than her, but she managed it without too much trouble. She ran her fingers over the nightbird that held the fabric around her while her eyes ran over him - His steps were light as he approached the passageway that led mountainside, and even with his bow hooked to his back, he was utterly silent in his movements. She took steps to follow him, and she was startled by the contrast her leather boots made with his.

She followed when he beckoned to her, climbing back out into the yellow light of sunset. She drew his hood over her head, and the light seemed to almost pass her by.

_We can learn a thing or two from these thieves. _She thought.

A blast of cold wind assaulted her flank, but the cloak stayed most of the chill. Just ahead, she thought she heard him grunt, but his footfalls betrayed nothing of his discomfort.

_He's probably not used to the whole taking-prisoners thing._

Taking a deep breath, something she had not done in centuries, Serana started after the Nightingale who saved her.


	5. Walker of Two Worlds

/Hi again!

Once again, I appreciate all the reviews, feedback and suggestions you have given me! It's what keeps me going.

FadedFlight: I'm sorry, but all I can do is thank you oh so much. You don't know how relieved I am to hear that my characters are actually believable ^^

RatedR: Thanks for reading! I wouldn't be too sure about that though...

SgtGinger: You didn't miss anything! :D And I like that you like that she likes him right off the bat!

Gone In an Instant: Thanks for the review! I'll try to keep that balance as I go along, so don't go just yet!

Danish: I hope you like this chapter!

N7-Slayer: My favourite class for Silver and Gold! I hope you build him pure melee! Better yet, stop by and keep reading!

Alright, enough of me. Enjoy!/

The road to Whiterun was unnaturally quiet.

Arcturus had his eyes on it now, watching a half-league of it sprawling out to the edges of his vision. The left led back into the mountains, where he had spent the last day and a half negotiating passage with the treacherous snow and wind. He could still see the last tints of snow in the distance, and he suppressed a shudder that came with his memories.

To his right was a straight shot to Whiterun hold, and the first waypoint he had planned for the journey east. Whiterun was a busy city, celebrated for its convenient location as the centre of Skyrim and, to put it simply, salivated over for its strategic positioning. With the names the Imperials and Stormcloaks were branding each other with, the mental image of two ravenous hounds fighting over scraps of meat came easily to his mind.

_All the more reason for people to pass through this way. _He thought. _At least it's the middle of the day._

He stood and walked away from the fire, finding its heat coupled with the midday sun to be too much for him to handle. The rabbits would be fine on top of the fire for another half-hour, but he was afraid he'd be cooked before they were.

"Let's make every inch of me pitch-black. Nice thinking, Nocturnal." He said to no one in particular, resting himself against the trunk of a densely-leafed tree. His eyes returned to the road, but not before catching another glimpse of his charge.

He found it quite difficult to reassemble his thoughts afterwards.

She was lying on the ground, sound asleep under the shade of his makeshift tent. The sun seemed to drain the energy from her, and she was most appreciative when he set himself to work gathering branches, tying them together and draping his cloak over the small contraption.

He had left her there for some time, taking Fang with him on a hunting trip on the plains. After an hour or so of careful aiming, he had his faith in her rewarded as he returned to find her still asleep, with her head of short-cropped dark hair draping over her face. With her eyes closed, the vampire almost seemed... human. But maybe it was from the blood potion he had given her. He had seen what vampires become when starved of blood for a day or two, and he certainly did not want to advertise the fact that he was travelling with one, even if she was a willing captive.

_A companion._ He thought. He had left Lydia in charge of his house in Whiterun, Derkeethus to his honest work at Darkwater Crossing, and the brothers and sisters he had found in the Thieves' Guild to their own devices, and the first companion he took in almost a year was a vampire.

Sometimes, he wondered if some of Cicero's insanity had rubbed off on him during the short period they had known each other. The Night Mother's words have vanished from his mind completely, but he feared some of her caretaker's humour had stuck.

"Something smells nice." He heard her voice, groggy from sleep, reach his ears. He retook his thoughts from the past and set them to work on the present.

"I was going to fetch some seasoning from my pack, but you seemed to have developed an attraction to it." He knelt in front of the fire and turned the rabbit over, cooking the meat evenly. "I've always thought that vampires don't eat."

"We still do, but it's less out of necessity and more for keeping up appearances. We can stomach it, but..." She spread her hands, cocking her head at him. Her orange eyes almost seemed afire. Had the need to constantly monitor the rabbits not been there, he would have found it impossible to look away from them.

"It doesn't compare." He finished. "I do hope you'll change your mind after this."

The way she handled the roast rabbit seemed almost cautious as he handed it to her. He retrieved another one from the fire and breathed in the scent. It was just right.

Or, at least he hoped it was. He could have cared less if it was only him eating it, but he kept his eyes to himself when he took an experimental bite.

The meat was lean, almost unnaturally so, and there was little enough of the small animal to constitute a full bite. It was unbelievably bland too, and the fire had not reached far enough within to cook the entire rabbit inside out, and the heady taste of blood flooded his mouth when he bit deeper.

"You know," he heard her voice again, this time muffled by chewing, "I really can get used to this."

He couldn't quite tell why, but that little comment made his heart swell. "I'll take that as a compliment to my culinary expertise."

_It was probably because it didn't cook long enough._

Serana made a sound in her throat, swallowing one mouthful before attempting to speak. It sounded oddly like contentment to him.

"Now, now, you presume too much." She said, wagging a proverbial finger at him with her tone. "The meat was too tough on the outside, too raw on the inside, and it tasted like I was chewing on wood."

"Feel free to fall back on that bubbling flask of yours. My pride remains untarnished." He said proudly. There was an odd sense of ease, being around her. He half-wondered if it was the fabled charm of vampires. By the Eight, he hoped that wasn't the case.

He looked at her again, and he almost grinned back in kind.

"And turn my back on the hospitality of my captor? I think not."

And then, as quickly as her smile had come, it was gone.

Arcturus saw the entirety of the transformation, the entire quarter of a second of it. One moment, she was lighthearted, casual, and almost happy. The next, a light was in her eyes, her lips were pressed taut, and her entire body seemed to tense.

"What is it?" He asked, all traces of humour gone in his voice and all thoughts of the meal gone from his mind. His eyes stared into Serana's, and it was not at all in admiration.

"My kin." She answered with a strain in the words. Her eyes leapt to the road. His followed. It remained empty. "You would not feel them, but I do."

_I wouldn't be too sure about that._

_ "Laas." _He whispered under his breath. The world blinked, and once again the power of the dragons he had slain coursed through his veins, enhancing his sight.

He felt in person the severity of her distress.

There were eight of them, spread out in a circle on the plains. They moved in a singular motion, closing in around their encampment as a noose would around a dead man's neck.

_How did they know?_

He stood, taking Fang from behind his back and running his fingers over the quiver. He had more than enough arrows, but was short on time. They were closing in.

"Give me a weapon." He heard her say, and he almost scoffed at her request.

"And what? Let you tie me up like a Frostfall bundle? It'd make it too easy for your friends, now wouldn't it?" He accused her. There was no way they could tell which way he had gone. It had to be her.

"You don't understand. There's no time, I can help you!" She turned towards him, frustration evident in her voice. It only served to fuel his anger at being betrayed.

He turned his bow on her. "Then explain! Why are you so afraid? By Talos, I will shoot where you stand and deny them their prize."

He didn't notice their approach until it was too late.

"Now, is that any way to treat a guest?" The words slithered into his ears with an agonising laziness, prompting him train his sights on a young Altmer woman clad in the unmistakable red-and-black armor of a vampire. Out of the corner of his eye, Arcturus saw two other vampires spaced widely apart, naked, curved blades gleaming in the sunlight.

"The sun must be getting in your eyes, vampire. She's my prisoner, not a guest." He spat, keeping the bowstring taut as he moved from one target to another, keeping them at bay. He felt Serana's presence as she backed into him, and he realised that he was completely surrounded.

"Ah, anyone would have been mistaken, what with the... _congeniality _you treated her with." The she-vampire drawled, her own blade reflecting light onto her pale face. It was more a pale yellow than the gold her people possessed, and it showed all the more when compared to the blazing orange of her eyes.

"Unlike you, I do not intend to drain my captives of their blood." He said darkly. His mind was consistently drawing blanks at forming a plan. He hated himself for it, and for getting himself into this trouble.

"A pity the same thing cannot be said for your... prisoner."

He whirled around to find her averting his glare, but he saw the fangs between her lips all too well.

"Come, my lady. Kill this pathetic mortal, and let us be off. Your father eagerly awaits your return after all these years." The she-vampire said, a reverent quality entering her voice.

Arcturus narrowed his eyes at Serana. He really had placed his trust in the wrong person.

"I'm sorry, Sylla, but I'm not too keen on family reunions right now. Just let me get rid of this scroll on my back, then we can talk." Serana answered, more guarded than he had ever heard before.

"But that simply would not do, my lady. Lord Harkon insisted that you return with the item placed in your care." The she-vampire, or Sylla, countered.

"Then are you sure that my father wants me back? Or just the scroll?" Serana asked, and as she did, Arcturus thought he saw regret in her eyes, as if she was lamenting for something she had experienced before, but hoped would change in time. Apparently, it had not.

Then he caught her eyes. She was looking at him with a curious expression, a mixture of pleading and annoyance.

She was asking him to trust her.

But could he? Dare he? Dare he look past her fangs and see an ally at his side?

"Lord Harkon commanded that both you and the scroll you carry be brought to him, and it would be best if you came willingly." Sylla said, and this time there was no seductive purr in her words, only a thinly-veiled threat.

Serana's eyes flashed. _See? _They seemed to say. Suddenly, Arcturus was more comfortable turning his back to Serana than to Sylla.

He gave a curt, almost unnoticeable nod, and his rationale came to comfort him over his decision.

_It's not like you can come out alive without her help._

He did hate it when his rationale was actually rational, but he set it aside for the moment and turned back towards Sylla. His muscles throbbed with the continued effort of drawing his bow, but he held it steady. He was going to need it for what came next.

"And let you steal my prize away from me so easily? Come now, _Sylla_," he lifted one corner of his mouth in a sly grin, "that would be too easy. People might get suspicious."

Sylla let the wicked tip of her blade graze the grass, the slender, slightly curved edge gleaming in the light. "You are a fool if you think to best eight of our kind, _thief_. That bumbling brute of a Nord may have fallen to your tricks, but there are no shadows for you to hide in here."

_For the moment. _The words were coming together in his head. He had seen them in his travels, gathered them from forgotten places of Skyrim, and wrenched their meanings from the dying thoughts of dragons.

"The same goes to you, my vampiric friend." He said.

Then he spoke, but his voice was no longer what it once was. The sounds of the plains seemed to quiet before the three words he uttered, echoing out with such force that the wind drove out before them, heralding the power that it foreshadowed.

_Strun. Bah. Qo._

The force of the Thu'um struck Sylla dead center, but did little more than stagger her. Arcturus watched, with tense anticipation, for her reaction.

Sylla laughed. "It would seem the fabled might of dragons is naught but a fairy tale." She said to her companions. Out of the corners of his vision, he saw them bare their fangs in mockery, but he paid them no mind. His eyes were on the darkening clouds above, his ears were listening for the distant thunder, and his thoughts were on the cloak still used as a makeshift, but abandoned, tent.

_That's the other thing, Nocturnal. This armor stinks when drenched in water. _He thought, calling for her.

_I assume, child, that you have not come for small talk. _She answered almost instantly, her mystic, velvet voice mingling with his thoughts. It was almost too fast; he wondered if she was watching him all along.

_You know what I have come for. _He thought.

_And you know the price for what you ask._

_ I'm already slated for eternity. What's a few more years worth to me?_

The thunder rumbled again. This time it was directly above him, and it drew the eyes of both human and vampire alike. The clouds gathered, sealing away cracks in their fabric that permitted sunlight to slip through. Darkness descended over the plains, and the first drops of rain sizzled over the fire.

"Dragonborn..." He heard Serana say. He felt her eyes on him, and her voice was one of disbelief.

_You always were one for theatricality. _Nocturnal whispered. He wondered if it was amusement he heard in her voice, but he doubted he would ever have the answer.

"If you think a little drizzle can stop us, you are sorely mistaken. Lord Harkon would appreciate having the Dragonborn as his pet." Sylla hissed, leading her steps with her blade. Her followers mimicked her movements, closing in on all sides without breaking the perfect circle.

"No, it certainly won't." Arcturus said, letting his words be swept away by the wind, which had sped up to an unearthly howl. "It'll only slow you."

He felt the air in front of him hiss and crackle, and sparks jumped from cloud to cloud above him.

_The Evergloam calls, child... _Nocturnal whispered again, this time sounding as if she was right beside him. He felt arms encircle him, pulling but not quite moving him, with their fingers drawing lazy circles on his chest where his Nightingale sigil would have been. The ground beneath his boots warped and shifted, and the outskirts of Whiterun was violently torn away from his perception of his surroundings, replaced by depthless shadows that came together and drifted apart at the whims of their mistress. The thunder was gone, the lightning was gone, and all that was left was silence and darkness.

And Nocturnal.

She seemed to emerge from the shadows effortlessly, her purple eyes fixed intently on him as he fought the nausea of travelling across two planes of existence. Clothed in naught but flowing swathes of smooth, black garment, the very sight of her drew questions to her enigmatic nature. As his eyes fell upon her once more, as they had for quite a few occasions when he had called on the Evergloam, he resolved to leave the question unanswered.

"Welcome home, Arcturus." Nocturnal smiled. Her features were that of a queen, matronly but not at all unattractive, and he remained wary of her duality as her hand cupped his chin, forcing their eyes to meet.

Fortunately, humour was not lost on Daedric beings.

"Just taking the grand tour again, milady." Arcturus said, returning her smile with one of his own. "Again."

"And yet you are only half of yourself, my dear child. Your soul may belong to me, but your body lingers, trapped in mortal vices in the realm of the living." Her smile turned seductive, and he had to fight from watching the sway of her robes as she spoke.

"Now, you have your soul already. I still have a life to live, and I have one foot," he stomped the ground with one boot and it rippled, revealing grass stained wet by rain underneath it, "planted firmly there."

Nocturnal's hand fell away, and she turned from him. He could not tell if she was angry or not. "But you will not laugh in the face of death forever, child. Unlike here. Here, there is no death."

"Then what is there to live for?" He asked.

She was silent for a few moments. Arcturus tapped his feet, impatient to accomplish what he had come for.

"That... is an interesting question, Arcturus." She faced him again, and he thought he saw the beginnings of amusement - genuine amusement - on her lips. "I shall have to think of a suitable answer for when you visit once more."

"You know you don't have to wait for that, my lady." He bowed. "I have your leave?"

"Go, Dragonborn," she said, suddenly not the hospitable host she had been moments before, "leave me to my thoughts."

_She and her thoughts. _He mused as he drew the blade strapped to his thigh, eyeing the circular crossguard and the familiar symbol etched upon it, reminding him of who he was.

He willed, and the shadows made way for him, parting like mist before wind as a picturesque landscape beset by a terrible storm surrounded him once more. Only, as he stood on the wet grass, listened to the roaring thunder and saw Sylla staring directly through him, he found everything to be abstract and blurred. Every outline wavered before his eyes, every sound seemed muffled, and he had to squint to make out the confusion in Sylla's eyes. In the distance, he saw the silhouette of tall, sharp spires and pitch-black halls - Shade Perilous - but when he blinked it was gone.

_"Nightingale tricks," _he heard Sylla say, spitting venom with every word. Her robes billowed as she lunged forward and took Serana by the neck. _"He's deserted you like the coward he is."_

He had to suppress a laugh as he circumvented the scorched indent in front of him. His mind turned. His Shout could actually be more than just a distraction.

_"Take your hands off me, bitch, or they will never touch anything again." _Serana said.

_"Such a mouth on you. I wonder if it adds to the flavour." _Sylla smiled slyly, tickling the tip of her fangs with her tongue. _"I've always wanted to taste a pureblood."_

Two other vampires closed in as if on cue. They grabbed Serana's arms and bared their fangs, sharing the same malicious gleam in their mistress's eyes as Sylla leant in, jaws open wide and seeking Serana's recoiling neck.

Arcturus slid behind the vampire farthest from the commotion and, quick as lightning, pressed the keen edge of his Nightingale blade against his neck. Directly across from him, he commanded the impending lightning strike to seek a new target.

The vampire hissed.

Arcturus whispered into his ear.

"Scream for me."


	6. Blade of Shadows

**/Favourite for completely original title?**

**Hmm... that sounded eerily official. I don't do official.**

**Oh yes people. HEY PEOPLE.**

**RatedR: I'm glad you enjoy characters like Arcturus! It's definitely fun to give life to him!**

**MightyMerlin: No Nocturnal this time, sorry! Wouldn't want her to become the new maternal figure here. Hope you enjoy it anyway!**

**GoneIn(Never): Here you go! Let me know what you think about this one!**

**SgtGinger: There ya go! A demonstration of pure, unadulterated melee, with a bit of storytelling on the side!**

**ClassyCynic: I'd like to think this is me further exploring the Nightingale aspect, and not fulfilling my innermost fantasies of writing an action-packed chapter. Enjoy!**

**N7-SlayerD: More Thu'um usage incoming! Although this time epic battle music might not be that fitting...**

**Danish Existence: People always seemed to characterise Nightingales as common thieves given an edge, afterlife be damned. But then again, it IS the afterlife...**

**Stone: And I'm glad to nurture the story until it becomes of age! Thank you and keep reading!**

**chuck: I...I think this is a bit longer. Or is it. Read it first, read it first!**

**Okaaay I might have to find another way to deal with these reviews, cus it's getting a bit drab. Tell me, would you guys want me to send individual reviews to you via PM? Or would you just want me to do this-/**

He slit his throat with a quick horizontal cut just in time to witness the new, devastating use he had found for his Shout.

A pillar of brilliant, pure white energy slammed into the earth on the other side of the small camp, sending a ripple through the ground and a blinding spark to those who deigned to gaze upon it directly. The thrall standing where the lightning had chosen to strike seemed only a mere annoyance to it, as the unquantifiable amounts of raw electricity considered the hapless creature's flesh and bone to be nothing more but a convenient conduit.

Arcturus didn't even hear him scream.

_I guess quick as lightning _is _a sound expression after all. _He gave his thoughts a split second, and Sylla and her thralls another, before flashing them with his most lopsided, sinister grin and sank back into the Evergloam.

The world blurred, and he heard an indistinct tearing sound in the air, but he fought back against the nausea that threatened to incapacitate him.

_Consequence... _his mind whispered, in a voice he knew and began to dislike. Such incessant droning. She was this close to being his mother.

_ A mother with a very weird fetish for nausea_. He remarked drily, flipping his grip on his blade to a backhanded fashion and searching for his next target. He spied one of the six remaining thralls, hissing and snarling, approach his companion with the open windpipe.

He spoke, knowing his words would carry over with a most interesting effect.

_"You're next."_

He saw the whites in the would-be vampire's eyes swell and heard his animalistic taunts die in his throat. It sounded funny, like flopping fish. Nice to know they respond well to intimidation.

_Step two. _Arcturus thought, mentally cracking his knuckles.

He strode forward with measured steps, bringing his blade in high and from behind his back, and waited until the last second before phasing back into his home plane.

Reality went back into focus with a pop and the clamour of steel on steel as the midnight black edge of his Nightingale blade met the vampire's katana head-on. Arcturus let the momentum of his attack carry his head forward, leaning into the surprised creature's face and chuckling.

Then he vanished again, becoming invisible to the vampire just as he pushed back against the blow, ducking under the katana's hilt, slipping behind him, and timed his switching just as he thrust the blade into his spine.

It made for an astonishing spectacle for those who bothered to see it unfold, which, in this case, was all eight of the remaining vampires, Serana and Sylla included.

As the vampire cautiously advanced with his sword held center, an effective block against frontal attacks, an ink-black shadow seemed to materialise right in front of him, and it wasn't until they saw the tiny spark that ran between the two clashing blades that they realised that the shadow was actually real.

Naturally, the vampire countered by pushing back, and it was small wonder that it did not work.

The black apparition disappeared as quickly as it appeared, folding into itself and winking out of existence with a lingering shroud of black mist. Only, it struck again with a vengeance, tearing the fabric of the world apart right behind its reeling victim and running it through with a powerful backhand stab.

If anything, though, the vampires were quick to adapt, and two of them slashed at Arcturus' sides, hoping to catch him before he tipped his hat and vanished again.

But of course, tricks were not all he had up his sleeve. There was quite a bit of substantial swordsmanship there as well, and he quite dazzlingly displayed it with a leap and a twist, evading the simultaneous attack and landing right beside his assailants with his blade tight against his arm. Feinting a slash to his left, he exploded into a dense cloud of mist and re-coalesced without warning, dashing aside the katana to his right and cutting its wielder down with a diagonal slash.

And then he disappeared again, leaving the arcing blades cutting through naught but empty air, and the vampires stumbling into one another, frustrations mounting with every attempt to hunt him down.

He laughed at how convenient it was. The more agitated they were, the more mistakes they made, making them that much easier to divide and splinter. Literally.

One by one, the vampires fell, led around the camp in merry chases as he struck from the shadows. Soon, there was no one left save for the leader of the pack.

Arcturus returned to the mortal plane of existence for the umpteenth time accompanied by a particularly groundbreaking roll of thunder, putting a stop to his spin at just the right moment, so that the blade hugged tightly at his side opened up a gaping wound in his victim's stomach _and _brought him to face the female vampire holding Serana at the point of a dagger. A slight sting on the side of his free arm told him of a shallow gash there, barely piercing the skin.

_Not bad, _he commented on his own performance, _I'll bet the grass underneath Sylla's boots are not just from the rain._

"Impressive." He heard her say. He could say the same for her. There was not a hint of emotion in her voice. "But useless. Every single one of them submitted to me within one night. It will not be difficult to... procure more."

"Glad you enjoyed it." He answered, suddenly tense. He could feel his link to the Evergloam weakening, but that did not even constitute a smidgen of his worries. Instead, it was her.

For some odd reason, he felt something click inside him when he saw the dagger's edge pressing against Serana's neck. It was a sense of... urgency, compelling him to press the assault without pause, rip the dagger from the sickly yellow bitch's cold, undead hands, and commandeer her head as a quiver for his arrows. It gave him pause. Thoughts like these went against every fiber of his being, defying every doctrine he set for himself and laying waste to his fine-honed patience.

Confound plans; confound waiting.

Sylla must have sensed his intentions, for she tightened her hold around Serana's neck and pointed the dagger at him instead. "Now, thief, you may have cost me my deck, but I still hold the one card that matters."

_Not for long._

And yet, it was not Arcturus who made his move, but Serana.

He saw through Serana's feigned inaction before she even moved, and it was easy enough to track her as she craned her head away from Sylla. To her captor, it would have looked like a futile attempt to break free.

The truth, however, was anything but.

Her movements reminded her of a viper as she tilted her head and lunged towards Sylla's exposed neck, with absolutely nothing in between her fangs and bare flesh. To Arcturus' eyes, it seemed almost unnaturally blank.

There came the hackle-raising sound of razor-sharp fangs sinking into soft flesh. He could almost feel the blood pulsing underneath Sylla's pale yellow skin as her eyes went wide. He wanted to look away, but couldn't.

The dagger dropped from numbing fingers as a tremor went through the vampire's body, her muscles racking and her breathing hitching as all resistance was drained from her. He heard, for the thunder was dying down, weak, choked gasps as Sylla spasmed, the colour fleeing her face at a prodigious rate.

The vampire herself dropped on powerless limbs as the blood flow to them ceased entirely, every ounce of her blood, be it her own or that which she... acquired from someone else, feeding her kin who was lodged firmly in the nook of her neck, hanging on with her two fangs plugged into her veins.

Then, without pause or warning, Serana dislodged herself from Sylla.

Without retracting her fangs.

If the sound of Serana's fangs sinking into Sylla's neck made Arcturus' hackles rise, the sound she made when she ripped her fangs from her lifeless flesh would have threatened to freeze over his heart and send a blast of mountain wind along his spine. And he was quite sure it actually did. He suppressed the urge to retch as Serana tore away a portion of Sylla's neck with her violent displacement. She spat, her lips more vividly scarlet than he ever remembered, and he swore he saw an irregularly-shaped object fly from her mouth.

He slid his blade back into his sheath and retrieved Fang from where he had left it when he went invisible. When he turned back to her, he found her still hard at work spitting, now mixing the motion up with exclamations of disgust.

"Full up?" He asked. Somewhat inappropriate, but he needed something to keep the rabbit down.

She stopped mid-spit and gazed at him with eyes that burned with crackling fire. And she smiled sheepishly.

"I _knew_ there was a reason we don't bite our own! I'd very much like to know what the last guy _she_ drank from ate for lunch." She wiped away the splotches of crimson with the hem of her sleeve, sticking her tongue out in a very un-ladylike fashion.

He laughed, and after a moment she laughed too. And then, as they both settled down from their mirth, they looked around and realised how odd it was to laugh while surrounded by corpses. The sky cleared, and Arcturus was quite sure dead vampires smelled too.

They methodically retrieved the fallen vampires, one by one, and piled them beside the small campfire. Miraculously, it had survived through the thunderstorm, although Arcturus thought it much too small to devour nine full-sized roast-

No, he did _not _want to go there.

"Neat trick back there," Serana said as they picked up Sylla last, taking the head voluntarily. She was more comfortable around blood and wounds inflicted by what would seem like an oversized sabrecat. "Though you might've enlightened me earlier on the whole Dragonborn situation..."

Arcturus scoffed, pocketing the pouch of Septims he found on Sylla's leather sash before holding her by the boots, lifting her back to the campfire. "You're one to talk. Family business or not, I think I'm on a need-to-know basis when, uh... overly protective father figures start sending out undead assassins to hunt their prodigal sons and daughters down."

Serana shrugged. "Didn't want to get into it. It makes for awkward family reunions."

"I guess I'm stuck with you then. How wonderful." He punctuated the end of his statement with hefting Sylla atop the miniature mound of corpses. "I am curious, though. Why so much bad blood? Excuse the pun, I meant no discrimination."

She paused in the midst of dusting her hands. "I can't tell you."

He tensed. She was hiding something.

_Thanks, brain. Couldn't have figured it out without you. _The good humour was gone in a flash, replaced by dull irritation at her apparent deception. Why was she doing this? He cannot let his guard down around her if she continued to keep secrets from him, especially when they might get him killed.

_And why would you want to let your guard down?_

He cut himself off right there. "Why?"

"Because it's bigger than either of us, and I can't tell you until I've found out exactly who you are, and what you intend on doing." Serana said, her voice taut.

"I intend on delivering you to the Dawnguard, and killing every vampire that stand in my way. Is that not proof enough of who I am?" He asked. Deep down, something told him that he was not only in this for the Dawnguard. He could care _a lot _less for the bunch of stuck-up, egotistically-expanded Stendarr worshippers, but again, he cut himself off before his thoughts wandered too far.

He expected no other answer than the one she gave him. "No."

What he did not expect was what came after, and the powerful emotions embedded within. "This... thing... It has poisoned one person too many. I need to be absolutely sure."

He froze, mulling over her words. Divines be damned, now she has made it so interesting that he could not help but want to see this quest of hers through.

"All right." He said, mentally assuring himself of his decision. He'll trust her this once, even though it meant treading on paper-thin ice on his part. "But it would be best for both of us if we hurried and got into Whiterun before nightfall."

Serana nodded, her orange eyes conveying a silent thanks he received and returned a quick grin for.

He turned towards the mound of dead vampires, recalling the words he needed for the chore. Sylla's lifeless eyes lolled to stare at him blankly, and he almost stuck out his tongue at her. He could not be arsed to build a pyre for them.

He breathed in, and felt the air come back out charged with ancient power.

_Yol._

The air he breathed out burst into spontaneous flame, coating the mound with a fiery sheen. He grabbed his cloak from atop the makeshift tent and quickly dried it with the growing inferno. He hoped it didn't stink like dead vampire afterwards. Beside him, Serana watched with a raised eyebrow.

It was scant moments before they left the burning corpses behind and turned their eyes to the open road south, which was about a half-day's journey to reach Whiterun.

"This time you're going first, Serana." He said, rolling the name around in his mouth. He only learned it from Sylla, and he had to say he quite liked the name. It had a certain ethereal-

_Stop it._

"If only to let you admire how much the scenery's changed since the past thousand years, instead of my horribly tight-fitting backside." He added. He bit his tongue. Too inappropriate?

Serana burst into a fit of giggles and swatted him playfully on the arm, taking to the road. He followed her. Now, he can admire he-

_STOP IT._


	7. Guardian Demon

They made the outer gates just in time before they closed.

Serana was careful to keep her head under her hood as the tranquil calm of the countryside slowly faded with every traveler that passed her by. Her keen ears picked up the chaotic din of Skyrim's busiest city leagues away, and as she climbed the winding steps to the larger wooden gates, she felt it wash over her.

_Civilisation._

She had not forgotten how to talk, or maintaining all the proper courtesies such as not biting, but it _has _been a while since she immersed herself in the lifeblood of an entire city. To her vampiric senses, Whiterun pulsed with life. The sight of warm firelight dotting the city walls, the faraway sounds of a thousand voices, the laughter of one drowned out by the sorrow of another. All these myriad sensations merged in her perception of the city, coalescing in a fiery beacon of light and warmth. They were foreign to her, being what she was, but she did not loathe them. She rather disliked it when the sun smothered her in a flaming blanket, but she never hated it for what it did, willingly or not.

_Unlike the rest of us._

"I'll handle the guard." She heard Arcturus say. He overtook her, black cloak billowing in the evening wind and for a moment, she wondered if he felt the same things she did. Admittedly, she had not mapped out the full extent of his... differences from the average person yet, but there has to be something. Something he sees that no one else can or would bother to.

"Divines, I'm drying up as fast as this here waterskin," he muttered, taking a swig from the shrinking container, and she noticed him panting. It was something he did not do for the entire duration of the journey.

He was positively gulping in mouthfuls of air when they finally reached the arching wooden gates, framed by rough, hardy stone she had seen surrounding the city. Two men wearing yellow cloth that did little to hide the vest and mail underneath detached themselves from their relaxed position against the wall and tightened their grip on their spears.

"The gate's closed." The one on the left said. His Nordic accent was thick, and it only added to its disinterested tone. He hardly noticed his counterpart gesturing to another guard posted in the tower above.

"Doesn't look like it on my end." Arcturus said jovially, somewhat out of breath. Serana could not see the guardsman's reaction with her head down, but she did see something else, carved into the stone at waist height, with all the care and precision of a child's doodling. A circle within a triangle.

She ventured a glance and saw Arcturus and the guard on his right exchange a curt nod, then cast her eyes to the ground once again as she followed him through the gate.

At once, every faculty of her senses were assaulted by a cacophony of sights, sounds and smells she could scarce sort out.

She looked, and saw sparks flying from a piece of glowing steel, pinched between hammer and anvil and pummeled flat by a woman with arms as wide as tree trunks;

She listened, and heard the high-pitched giggles and wails from a pair of children chasing each other through the streets, punctuated by a boy's annoyed cries as the girl chasing him beat him on the head with a wooden sword. Her lips lifted in response. She suddenly felt so old;

She sniffed, and had to fight the urge to look farther into the bustling city, where the aroma of seasoned, hot stew drifted into her nostrils. She found it pleasantly odd when her stomach rumbled in answer;

She reached out with her senses, and felt the presence of a group of sellswords not too far from her, the fire of their minds setting them apart from normal people. She could not resist the urge this time, and peeked at the group of warriors from beneath her hood. She gasped silently when she saw a woman among them, looking back at her and as their eyes met for a brief instant, she thought she heard the howling of wolves in her head.

Arcturus suddenly stepped in, cutting off eye contact. "If that wasn't a long hike, I don't know what it would be."

She met his gaze and found it cautionary. He knew.

"Where to now?" She asked. As much as she enjoyed basking in the ebb and flow of life, she felt horribly exposed.

"Now we lose ourselves in the city. Let's see if Lydia is home. I feel like I can wolf down a deer." He smiled and led the way to a house along the main street, nondescript save for the sigil of a horse's head above the doorframe. Producing a ring of keys, he unlocked the door and pushed hard. The door creaked open, staggeringly. Serana raised an eyebrow.

The interior of the house was as cramped as it seemed to her on the outside, with a bare fireplace blocking most of the entryway. Bookshelves lined the walls, although most of them were vacant. A simple wooden table, flanked by benches, were the only pieces of furniture she could see. She did not notice the staircase at the end of the hall until a woman descended from it. She felt her heart flutter in surprise.

"Is it you, my Thane?" The woman asked, descending the steps. Her hand was on a hilt at her side, and she donned a hard shell of steel as clothing.

"Who else has the key?" Arcturus returned. Serana studied the woman closer, and she did not miss the tension in her muscles as she laid eyes on the cloaked figure behind her liege.

"My Thane..." the woman cautioned, hand reaching for her sword again.

"Lydia, I implore you," Arcturus unhooked Fang from his back and hung it next to the door. "The last time you chopped off someone's head in here, it took days to clean up. She's a guest."

Lydia reached the bottom of the stairs, and the fire lit her face. Serana saw a Nord, as strong and hardy as the stone blocks of the city's walls. Her shoulder-length hair was trimmed to the millimetre, and had it not been her feminine figure and full lips, Serana would have thought her a man. A utilitarian woman, and by the cautious light in her eyes, she was more than a capable fighter.

"Serana, meet Lydia, my housecarl. Lyd, Serana, and no cutting. She is my delivery for the Dawnguard." Arcturus gestured to both of them in turn, his voice breaking the silence, but not removing it. Serana decided to try her hand.

"Not sure I appreciate being treated like a parcel." She said, removing her hood and lowering her eyes toward the swordswoman to show her she meant no harm.

"If you weren't so important, I'd skin you and eat you." Arcturus said, sinking into a bench. "Well, my fair housecarl? I hope you've kept the place fully stocked!"

"We... do have some dried meats in the back room, Thane." Lydia answered dutifully, and Serana saw her cheeks redden at Arcturus' words. She wondered at it as the woman backed away. "I'll prepare a stew."

"Thank you very much, Lydia. I'd offer to help, but you know your stews better than I ever did." Arcturus said, turning to Serana. "If you thought my little field test was fulfilling, Lydia will wean you off of your blood potions in no time."

Serana smiled, but not before turning back to Lydia. She saw her eyes twinkle in the dim light, rimmed by what seemed like tears.

Lydia soon returned from the storage room tucked away under the staircase, hefting a pot of varied herbs and strips of meat Serana could not recognise. Arcturus was at the waterskin again, this time draining the skin of its remaining contents, and Serana stood to help the Nord woman set the pot over the fire. Lydia did not reject her help, but from her stiffness she could tell she did not appreciate it either.

Serana looked over to find Arcturus craning his neck, shaking the waterskin as if it would not yield a forbidden treasure. "Someone's thirsty." She remarked. As she said it, though, something began to stir within her. A memory of something she had learnt long ago, but had deigned not to remember. She hated that feeling, and she tried all the harder to recall what it was.

Far away and muffled by the wooden walls, bells tolled. Once, twice, thrice... six times they rang, signifying the end of the day and the coming of the night.

"A strange thirst... by sunset." Serana whispered, turning the words over and over in her mouth as if the mantra would help her remember. Lydia looked up, aware of what she had just said. Only Arcturus did not seem to notice, strangely preoccupied.

Serana's eyes widened as she came upon one possibility. The _only _possibility.

She whirled to face Arcturus, searching him with her eyes. He seemed paler than she remembered him to be.

Her cold blood froze over when she saw the shallow gash on his left arm.

_It cannot be. _Her heart rattled in its confines, unwilling to accept the fact even as her mind confirmed it. It was the only explanation.

She only hoped it would not be too late.

She sprang from her seat, startling Lydia with her movement. She needed her help as well. "Help me hold him down." She ordered, voice harsher than she intended, but she didn't care. She was running out of time.

_He _was running out of time.

She grabbed hold of his arm, dug her nails under the black leather of his armour and tore, exposing the wound. Under the fire, it seemed to be nothing more than a simple scratch, but veins of red snaking out from under the surrounding skin told her otherwise.

"Unhand him this instant, creature!" Lydia shouted over the sound of steel scraping against leather. The edge of her blade struck the pot on its side as she unsheathed it, producing a loud clang. Arcturus groaned at the sound, and Serana saw that he had not even the strength to open his eyes. Her heart, living or dead as it may be, skipped a beat.

"He's been infected." Serana turned his arm over so she could see, watching as her eyes too grew wide in horror. "He will succumb to it in mere minutes if we do not act now." She knew Lydia knew of what she spoke - Sanguinare Vampiris, the curse of Molag Bal transformed into a nightmare for mortals.

Arcturus tried to buck against her iron grip, but she held on tight. He seemed to know what was happening, but could not understand it. Lydia's sword clattered to the floor as she rushed over and took his other arm, leaning him against the wall and holding him there.

_Irreversible once in the blood. _She thought. Despair threatened to sink her will. _Except..._

"What are you waiting for? Do something!" Lydia cried, her concern for him evident. Serana saw it now, and understood the tears-

_Not now. No distractions._

"I can, but you both are not going to like it." She said. She felt them already, sliding out from behind her teeth. They have a mind of their own, and despite her best intentions, she doubt she had much control over them.

_I have no choice. I have to try._

"I have to bite him." She said simply. Arcturus groaned, louder this time, and struggled against the two women. She didn't know if he had heard her, for soon his mind would no longer belong to him.

"_What? No!_" Lydia's grip on him faltered for a moment, and his arm broke free, striking Serana across her jaw. She tasted blood in her mouth, and her fangs quivered in their confines. "This is a trick! I will not let you feed on him!" She cried, groping for her sword. She was flustered, confused, angry, but Serana saw how she handled her blade. She knew little of anything else.

"I can siphon my blood with his, remove the disease with my body, and keep him alive with my blood." She said. It could be done. Valerica, her mother, told her as much, although she also told her that it had never been attempted before.

"How is that any different? He will become a vampire nonetheless!"

Serana inwardly screeched in fury. She had to do it now, but _not_ at the point of a sword. "My blood is deadly to those I wish dead, and pure to those I wish alive. I am a vampire lord. It is within my power." She said, the words laced with more power than she had intended. They made Lydia blanch all the more.

Arcturus cried out, a suppressed groan of agony as he unconsciously fought the disease. But he could not win, not by himself.

_You need me._

"He needs me." Serana pleaded, begging for Lydia's consent. She would not do it on her own, for she knew they would pervert her purpose. If anything, their desire was clear. It was her own.

There was a painstakingly long wait as Lydia fought her own battle. Serana could see the conflict in her eyes, reflected and amplified in every tear that was there. She was used to taking orders, not making decisions, especially when they concerned ones dear to her.

Then, finally, she lowered her sword and returned to her liegelord's side, wrapping her arms around him and pinning him down firmly.

"Do it." She said, pressing her head against his chest, rising and falling with his frantic breathing.

"Save him."

Serana felt a surge of panic course through her as they slid out all too willingly. Bottled blood was no match for fresh, flowing blood, bright crimson and liquid-

_No._

She willed herself to perish her traitorous thoughts, clenching her fists as she leaned in. Arcturus was twitching now, a fine sheen of sweat rolling down the side of his exposed neck. His breathing came in ragged gasps, and his eyes fluttered within their sockets.

Her mouth edged ever closer to his bare skin, and still she was afraid to open it. She could feel the blood hammering beneath, so deliciously close to her ravenous fangs. Just a little more... A little bit more...

_No._

She whispered in his ear, making him tense.

"I'm sorry."

Then she rid herself of all doubt, bared her fangs, and sank them into Arcturus' flesh, the tip delicately tapping his artery.

At once, the fangs spoke to her.

_Dragonborn!_

_ Nightingale!_

_ Such power running through his veins, such delectable sweetness!_

Serana felt every muscle in her body clench when the first drop touched her fangs, making her head swim with the feeling. Every nerve within her body sang with pleasure at her new discovery, and she felt a swell of blood flow across her breasts, creating two pinpricks of pain. It was... wonderful, indescribably so. She had gone so long without tasting fresh blood, the centennial withdrawal hit her unlike anything she had experienced before. She almost moaned when heat flooded her system, making her feel incredibly alive.

She had never fully understood why some of her kin fed almost every hour of every day, as if their thirst demanded a respite that was a thousand times her own. Now, she did. To them, it was less of a necessity, and more of a narcotic. They were drunk; drunk on the pleasure, the ecstasy, the sheer fulfillment it brought them.

As she was now.

She felt it, as she was sure they did - a pit in the bottom of her stomach, a nest of dry twigs and leaves that would smoulder and burn with the slightest spark.

And Divines, did she _want _it.

She had never felt it before, never felt the pressure of it burning in her loins, never felt it clench and unclench with her every heartbeat. It felt so _good_, so... blissfully satisfying that she wanted to do nothing but submit to it. Submit, and she would receive all that she wanted.

_NO._

She remembered what she had to do, and it gave her pause. The blood welled in her mouth, as sweet as the purest honey and as fiery as wildfire. It tempted her, giving substance to her wants and desires, teasing her with phantom touches where she didn't want them to be. Or did she?

_Stop yourself, Serana! You are a vampire lord. You are better than this!_

A tidal wave of pleasure crashed over her, smothering her every sense with a fire she could scarce weather, let alone resist. Who was she to spurn her nature? Who was she to defy a Daedric Lord?

Then, she felt hands on her shoulders, muffled by a thick fabric she did not recognise. She opened her eyes, and there she was again, lost and alone after a thousand years of imprisonment, deserted by mother and father and left to rot in her own stony tomb.

She turned round, and saw his piercing ice-blue eyes stare deep into her, his gloved hands drawing the cloak around her shoulders, clasping it tight upon her chest.

But she could not see his face, for he covered it with his mask of cloth. And suddenly, she wanted something more. Something more than wanton, lustful pleasure, more than mindless, meaningless ecstasy.

She wanted to see his face. And she knew what she must do.

She sucked in with one of her fangs, feeling more of his blood fill her mouth. She tasted the off quality in it, and forced herself to swallow. With her other fang, she began to draw blood from her body, and feed it into the connected artery. She dared to open her eyes, and almost immediately she saw colour return to his cheeks.

And so she fed him, using herself as the conduit between him and life, for once using the curse on her not to deliver death, but to preserve a life. Her body cleansed the primitive mutation the curse had reverted to with ease, restoring his blood to that of an untouched mortal. Would that she could leave his memories untouched as well.

For hours she toiled, or was it mere minutes? She could not tell, for the windows remained opaquely black. Her blood had become his now, without the taint she carried, for the mark was upon her soul. Afraid of depleting herself, she allowed herself to replenish her lost reserves from his blood, feeling but not giving in to the lascivious sensations it brought her. It actually felt like it sort of tickled.

When she was sure no trace of the disease remained within Arcturus, she unsheathed her fangs and slid them back into the nook where they belonged. Her jaw ached from stretching itself for so long, and her stomach rumbled from the physical exertion.

Lydia stirred as Serana removed herself from Arcturus, and she detached herself from him as well. Serana looked at her for a moment, and she saw the uncertainty in her eyes.

"I... I've never heard of one of your kind doing this for... people like us." She grasped for the correct words.

Her stomach protested again, audibly this time.

"Do you mind if I eat while talking?" Serana asked. She did not wait for Lydia's consent, instead snatching a bowl and spoon and helping herself to a generous amount of stew.

"Wait," Lydia said, picking a few leaves from a pile of herbs she had set down beforehand and sprinkling it over Serana's bowl. "I forgot to add these."

Serana spooned down a mouthful. Arcturus wasn't kidding.

"I'm sorry I doubted you..." Lydia said apologetically, searching for her name.

"Serana."

"Serana." She favoured her with a weak smile, letting Serana wolf down the rich mixture of greens and salted meats before attempting to speak again.

"I saw you struggle." She said, and Serana blushed. All the tingling, the flushing, the _hardening_... She saw all that? And here she was, thinking she got away with a cheap thrill for free. "I think it was brave of you, to do what you have done."

"I need him. He's a useful bodyguard." Serana answered, grateful that she could make the battle-hardened woman smile. She thought she may have found some of Lydia's weak spots, for she now had them too.

_Are you sure you don't need him for anything else?_

She blinked. Hard. _Go for the stew. Go for the stew._

"So, how did you end up as his housecarl? I'm surprised he garnered that title, what with his profession and him wearing it like a badge of honour." Serana asked.

Lydia smiled. Serana detected a tinge of melancholy. "I served Jarl Balgruuf's court for five years. Did pretty well in it too. Head of the guard paid more than you might think. But then Irileth came along, and suddenly I wasn't the right person for the job." She said it plainly, devoid of emotion. It didn't take a witless fool to get at the undercurrents of unjust she tried to hide.

"Then I was given the task of being subordinate to a Thane I've never even heard of. Some lucky halfwit who chanced the final blow on a dragon. It felt... demeaning." Lydia said, her voice taking on a dreamy cast. "And then that halfwit turned out to be him." She nodded in Arcturus' direction, who was blissfully unaware of the conversation and too occupied with sleep to defend his mental wellbeing.

"He's... unlike anyone I've ever met. Warriors, I've met, fought and defeated scores of them in my trade. Shadowy, backstabbing rogues, I've dealt with at my station within the guard. But he was different, and not only for being the Dragonborn, although that was quite the surprise." She said, taking the ladle and idly stirring the stew. There was quite a lot left, Serana observed. She must have taken a lot less time than she had thought.

"He may be Thieves' Guild, and he may be the Guildmaster, like he always bragged to me about, and he may more often than not walk in shady places I have no love for, but he's a good man." Lydia said, the conviction in her voice able to sway the most stout-hearted person. Serana was certainly persuaded easily.

"He doesn't look it, he doesn't act like it, but he is an honourable man. I have seen many a noble in my travels and duties, but him," she nodded towards him again, not daring to look at him for some reason. "An escaped fugitive who went on the run, finding out that he had the power of the world at his fingertips. If he were any lesser of a man, he would have gone and started another rebellion under some ungodly banner. But he didn't. He chose to stay, to live out his life in this sorry excuse of a house. Do you know he never kept the gold he earned in the Thieves' Guild? He told me that, every time he went down into the sewers of Riften, he would find the men and women living in the hovels, in the storm drains, and he would give them just enough to live through the week. And then the next, he would come back and see if they would use it well."

Serana needed to hear no more. "You like him."

The statement clearly caught her off guard. "I..."

"Don't bother, Lydia. I've seen many a confession over the years. You just shaped him up to be the best man in all of Tamriel." She saw her cheeks redden once again, and she knew that she was right. "He _is_ quite the looker," she motioned with her eyes, knowing that Lydia would follow her gaze. "And a big mouth."

Lydia stifled a laugh.

"So what do you plan on doing about it?" Serana asked. She didn't even know why she was so keen on this woman. An hour ago, she was still holding a sword against her neck.

"I... I don't know. He's always away on his travels, and he seldom takes me anymore. I just watch his house for him, and read the books he smuggles back to me." Lydia said, her tone betraying her uncertainty. "What would you do?" She asked suddenly.

Serana blanked at the question. "What would I do...?" She repeated.

_I would tell him, right then and there. I would shake him awake with strong arms and whisper gently in his ear. I would share with him my life, and make him mine until the end of time._

But something held her tongue, not letting her tell Lydia what she _knew_ she should do.

_But I want to see his face again._

She sighed. "I'd take my time, if I were you. Men like him don't like women who come onto them all of a sudden. They like to think they worked for it, as if they actually did anything." She said, the lie coming out easier than she imagined. "Send him signals. Subtly. Let him know you're interested, then jump on him with that amulet of yours. Mara, is it?"

Lydia was silent, taking her words into consideration. For a moment, Serana thought she would not believe her. But then, "you're right. But how do I go about doing this?"

Serana smiled two smiles - a genuine one at her obliviousness, and a sad one to her own deception. "That, my good lady, is something you have to figure out on your own."

But she unlaced the front of her leathers nonetheless, both to get some air, and to give the girl a hint. She leaned back against the bookshelf, bunching up Arcturus' cloak as a rest for her waist, and closed her eyes. She felt like she could sleep like a rock. And at night, no less.

"What are you doing?" Lydia asked, perplexed.

"Getting some rest, of course!" Serana answered. "I haven't had a wink of sleep since your high-and-mighty liege woke me from my cramped tomb. You two are messing with my sleep cycle."

Lydia thought for a moment, then Serana saw a smile light up her features. "But if you sleep in a cycle, wouldn't you have to stay awake for at least a few hundred years?" She asked, almost winking.

Serana chuckled. "You're learning."

She turned her head to one side. Arcturus' face was the last thing she saw.


	8. Nightflight

She was beginning to wonder if he'd ever wake up when footsteps came from the floor above, where Lydia had apparently taken him after she fell asleep. She quickly set down the needle and thread in her hands and turned in her seat. As she did, however, a part of her tried to turn back, if only to put off eye contact, just for a moment.

_You did the right thing, Serana. _She told herself. _He understands._

Then why did she insist upon mending the tear in his armour herself, instead of letting Lydia do it?

The golden rays of sunset streamed in from the window at the top of the stairs, hitting him sideways as he descended and saw her at the table. He was naked from the waist up, and Serana's gaze unintentionally mulled on his well-balanced physique. His bare chest seemed to gleam a dusky gold with the way the sunlight struck him, and she had to gnash her teeth to focus on his eyes.

What she found there was far less appealing.

Arcturus had the look of a brewing thunderstorm in his eyes, mired with trouble and disquiet. His eyes met hers, and Serana felt all of her resistance, her rehearsed lines and logical excuses, vanish, swept away by his accusatory glare. Whatever his words may be, she knew she had no answer for them.

But no words came from him. Indeed, when Serana steeled herself for the questions and accusations Arcturus doubtlessly had, all she heard from him was the sound of leather on aged wood as he came towards her.

She froze, not at the sword that was not there on his hip, but for the dagger she knew to be strapped to his boot.

"Are you done with that?" The words were flat and dispassionate, far different than what she had known him to be.

_He's angry, and he's trying to control it. _She thought, a part of her puzzled at his restraint while another assured her of his understanding. She pushed the latter part away as she severed the thread she had been mending his armour with; she dare not take his forgiveness for granted.

_A bite is a bite._

He took the empty shell of black leather from her, eyeing the needlework on its left arm. This time, she felt her cheeks heat with an invisible blush. Needle and thread came easy to her centuries before, and she had no idea if some newer, fancier pattern had been invented to replace the simple one she had done with black seams.

_At least it won't show that easily against the suit. _She thought, hoping against hope.

She caught his almost-imperceptible nod just before Lydia appeared from the alchemy lab at the bottom of the stairs.

"I found this recipe that would-" She caught the sight of her Thane, bare-chested and very much awake, and Serana saw an exact rendering of what her cheeks would have looked like, had there been enough blood to colour them.

"Oh, my Thane! You're awake!" Lydia exclaimed, the red of her blush only matched by her stuttering.

"Apparently I am, Lydia. What time is it? We have a long day ahead of us." Arcturus said, turning his gaze to the window.

Lydia stammered. "Ah... You must mean tomorrow, my Thane. It's almost to sunset."

Arcturus whirled to face her. "Why didn't you wake me sooner?" His voice was taut, controlled, but the anger thrashing about behind it was unmistakable.

"I..." Lydia said, unsure of herself. Serana felt a tinge of pity sour her heart. The faithful housecarl, she knew, was suffering from what _she _had done. "I'd thought you would need the rest, Thane... after what you went through the night before."

Arcturus put a hand to his forehead. "After we lost the vampires' trail for a brief moment, you mean. By now, Serana's father would have once again noticed the incompetence of his assassins and sent more to come after us."

Lydia remained silent, the blush drained from her cheeks, leaving her paler than before. She was frightened, not by wrath alone, but for what it meant to her carefully-built friendship with him. Serana was half-tempted to join in her defense, but thought better of it.

_To avoid provoking him, or to sabotage her? _A cynical voice said. She pushed it away, suppressing a snarl.

Arcturus took a deep breath, exhaled, and turned back to his housecarl. His eyes seemed calmer now, tempered by a measure of regret. "I'm sorry, Lydia. I'm not thinking straight."

"No-"

"You were looking out for me. Thank you for that."

Lydia folded her hands. "It is my duty, my Thane." The glow practically radiating from her told Serana of much more ulterior motives, but Arcturus did not seem to notice. _Men, _she thought.

"Alas, we have no time to waste. We must be back on the road and as far away from Whiterun as we can." Arcturus said, snatching the remaining pieces of his armour from the table. "We cannot endanger the townsfolk."

Lydia nodded, setting down the book she had in her hands. "I'll get supplies for the three of us and meet you at the gates."

"No," Arcturus said, walking over to her and putting a hand on hers. "You have to stay here."

Serana watched her crumble, as she knew her heart was doing the exact same thing every time he was leaving her behind. "But, Arcturus..."

"You have to warn Dragonsreach of the vampires pursuing us. They will no doubt follow the trail to Whiterun, and I don't trust those honour-hungry wolves up in Jorrvaskr any more than I trust the guard." He said in a voice that brooked no argument. "I need you safe, behind these walls. I cannot care for two."

_I'm more than capable. _Serana bristled, but kept silent.

Lydia's eyes dropped away from Arcturus', and she knew she saw the glimmer of tears as her gaze darted past. "Thank you... for your thoughtfulness, my Thane." She said. Every word was strained, held together by impressive professionalism. "I should still purchase supplies for your journey while you prepare. I'll wait for you at the gates."

She quickly made her way to her room upstairs, and returned with a pouch jingling with Septims. She pushed past Serana with a fading glance, and she saw the despair suffocate something within Lydia's eyes.

The door creaked open and shut, and she was gone.

Arcturus wordlessly made his way up the stairs to change, leaving Serana alone beside the fireplace.

_He saw it. He saw it and he knew it too. _She thought. She felt genuine sorrow for Lydia. She was a strong woman, loyal to her emotions and whom she entrusted them to, and to be requited in this way... It would have broken most, and those even stronger than her who were few and far between.

_Perhaps he feels nothing for her. A friend, perhaps._

_ Will that happen with me? _Dread chilled her. She wasn't even sure of her thoughts regarding this dashing rogue, waking her up from her endless slumber and taking her on this adventure.

_And don't forget, he's the servant of a mysterious Daedric Prince and literally breathes thunder. _Gods, there was simply too much to think about, too much to consider with a clear head, let alone a befuddled one.

But that did not stop her from trying to grapple with it, for she wanted to know the answer before they reached wherever he was taking her.

_You don't even know where he's taking you, do you? Or if he would leave you there, at the mercy of the vampire hunters, without so much as a second glance?_

For some ungodly reason, that scared her more than anything else.

She must have been thinking for a long time, for she had barely moved an inch from her seat when Arcturus descended the staircase once again, his footfalls much softer this time. The ebony-infused leather was wrapped tightly about him once again, reminding her of some outlandish, humanoid reptile a thousand times creepier than an Argonian. Funny. She'd never heard of an Argonian vampire before.

He handed her a bundle of black, fur-lined cloth, and she unfurled it to find a cloak that was not so different from the one he had around his shoulders. Dyed in black ink, she had thought he had found an identical cloak for her until she felt its weight. It was much heavier, and furry to the touch. She turned the body-length fabric about and found a sigil she could not recognise - a circle of ruddy orange, with a rim of yellow flame and a spear of plain white stabbing through the center. She wondered at the sigil, but was not curious enough ask him outright. He might not have looked angry, but he was still uncharacteristically silent.

"Ready?" He asked, short and simple. She nodded.

By the time they exited the house, the sun had already hidden itself behind the mountains to the west, leaving only a glimpse of its rays peeking over them. She breathed in, satisfied when she felt nothing of the sun's oppressive presence, and followed the swirling black cloak in front of her. The gates were still open at that hour, and they passed the scrutiny of the guards without incident. Once they were clear of the gates, Serana looked out towards the stables and found Lydia waiting with a modest mound of saddlebags at her boots. They quickly made their way down the winding entryway, and as they approached, she saw the sadness in Lydia's eyes. It struck her that Lydia had witnessed this moment, playing this part of hers, for many a time, and each instance added to her melancholy.

Arcturus murmured his thanks to Lydia, then struck up a conversation with the stable owner. She saw Lydia, waiting silently with the saddlebags at her feet, and she couldn't help but go to her side, taking her hand and squeezing. She felt her gratitude when she squeezed back, but it only made her aware of her sunken look all the more.

_What masterful deception, Serana! She'll never know you planning on stealing him from her now! _The voice chimed in again, squeakier than the last time. She wanted to strangle it.

"Ye won't be takin' that wench o' yers over there?" She heard the stable owner raising his voice, addressing Lydia indirectly. She felt her fingers clench; She had half a mind to strangle the loudmouthed bastard too, after she was done with herself.

Then it would seem that a deal had been struck, for Serana saw a boy no older than fifteen lead a black-maned horse that had the look of a charger about it out of its stall, leaving its three other, smaller counterparts behind. Arcturus probably had a mind to travel fast and hard.

All six of them, horse included, met on the path that led to the main road. Serana helped Lydia with mounting the saddlebags on the as-yet calm animal, and Arcturus handed over a pouch that clinked heavily.

"Lynette's 'er name. Treat her right an' she'll take ye over the province without breakin' a sweat." The stable owner said. Lynette nickered as Serana approached, shaking her mane, and Serana was instantly impressed at her ability to saddle two.

Arcturus mounted first, swinging himself into the front. Serana was about to climb the stirrups when she felt a hand grip hers. Lydia's. She turned and watched her lips move silently.

_Look after him. _She mouthed. Serana nodded.

She felt the horse's breathing with the inside of her thighs, and the instability made her reach for a handhold instinctively. Her hands found Arcturus' hips, and she was just about to recoil when his hand reached down, holding and moving her hands until her arms wrapped around him.

"Hold on," he said, and nudged Lynette with his heels. The warhorse broke into a gallop instantly, and Serana tightened her cinch around his waist.

They went back on the main road, wheeling east when they passed a crumbled watchtower. Wind hissed in her ears as Arcturus set Lynette on a steady speed, whipping by as quickly as the scenery did. The sight of the Valtheim river across the plains to her right, however, helped her find constancy in the journey, and soon her ears became accustomed to the rhythm of Lynette's hoofbeats. She felt safe enough to release one arm from her constriction on Arcturus' waist, and she used it to shield her eyes from the wind as she ran her eyes across the rolling plains. At times, she would look to her front, where Arcturus was keeping watch of the road ahead. She found his presence... comforting, and it took the better half of her restraint to resist pressing her face into his back.

_He'd probably kick me off the horse and drag me to the Dawnguard by the tail. _She mused, suddenly not wanting to take her eyes off him, even if it was just his bow, Fang, staring back at her. She found his head swiveling from side to side, ever vigilant to the passing surroundings, and she felt... safe. Protected. Her thoughts wandered, drawn into a lull by the idyllic scenery of the plains by night, and she recalled the earlier memories of her mother and father.

Her mother used to make her feel so safe, so loved, teaching her to control her urges and to divide her attentions with trivial matters. Valerica used to love gardening, and she had taught her of the art as well. They had planted their own little world in the castle courtyard, and Serana had made it her haven. She would go there later, when the arguments started to swelter between her parents, and search for the peace she had once found amongst the flowers.

Then her father had torn the garden apart, claiming that he needed the space for his all-consuming prophecy when he actually left the courtyard to rot, forbidding Serana entry. When the arguments led to fits of rage, he collapsed the archway to it altogether, burying the peace and tranquility she used to find there with it.

She blinked away the memories, the desire to bury herself into the space between Fang's bowstring and Fang itself almost overpowering.

And then she heard it.

It was a break in the rhythm, easily noticeable with her keen hearing and her affinity for the established, self-perpetuating sound of Lynette's hooves. It was not, however, Lynette suddenly running on three legs, but rather an intrusion into her cycle of hoovebeats, far and away but growing with the passage of time.

And behind her.

Gaining on her.

Serana twisted round when the additional sets of hooves became obvious to her, cursing herself for not noticing them sooner.

"Arcturus!" She cried against the wind, not taking her eyes off the trio of riders, hooded and cloaked in cloaks of red-and-gold, with eyes burning of an undying fire. "They're onto us!"

He twisted at the sound of her voice, his ice-blue eyes dark in the dim moonlight. "Had to come sooner or later!" He shouted back. Serana felt Lynette pour on a burst of speed as her rider dug his heels into her flank.

Across the silent plains, the three riders raced against one another to get to the jet-black charger ahead, kicking up dust and loose pebbles along the worn road as they pressed their mounts to their limits. Serana heard them whinny in protest, but it let them match Lynette gallop for gallop. By the sounds of their pounding hooves, they were not losing an inch of ground.

Serana saw a sliver of reflection appear in one of the riders' hands, and moments later arrows began to join in the chase.

"They're shooting at us!" She shouted.

"I'm aware!" He shouted back as a quarrel passed by an inch from his flapping hood. She saw him return to his original position, his gloved hands fidgeting with the reins. Then she heard him speak.

"Do you know how to handle a bow?" He asked. _While on the move, buffeted by wind and aiming at moving targets? _She added for him.

"Not really, no!"

"Then take the reins!" He shouted, one hand snaking back to hand her the strap of leather connected to Lynette's muzzle, which was jerking to and fro with every gallop she made.

"What?!" She took them nonetheless, noticing his now-free hand reaching for the bow hooked to the crown of his cloak.

"Hold on. To me." He said, strangely calm over the sound of the wind. The riders behind them were still gaining. Every so often, an arrow would sail ahead of them, as if reminding them of their proximity.

Then Arcturus swung one of his legs over, so that he was sitting sideways in his saddle. To the unknowing, namely Serana, it almost seemed as if he were halfway through dismounting the horse, then deciding better of it.

But she did not miss the quiver of arrows bouncing amongst the saddlebags, right beside where Arcturus' boots now dangled. She did not miss how he plucked one with two fingers, fitting the arrow to string without so much as a pause in his movements, making them seem almost rehearsed.

Then Arcturus leaned back, so the rider hot on their heels would be right behind him, with no Serana getting in the way. She honed in on the sound of Fang going taut, held vertically aloft by its master, who was only kept on horseback by the strength of his backbone, while the warhorse's relentless stamina kept at their daredevil flight. To Serana, everything was in constant motion, either jostled by Lynette's breakneck galloping or whipped away by the howling wind.

But somehow, she knew he would not miss.

The arrow flew from its place with an almost imperceptible whoosh of air, and Serana took her eyes off the road ahead for the briefest of moments, wondering if Arcturus' incredible feat had been for naught.

She did not hear the impact, but the sound of a horse's hooves clambering over one another as its rider tumbled off was nigh on unmistakable. Her heart sang at the triumph.

It was a triumph short-lived.

The two remaining riders noted their companion's demise, and she knew not if it was by anger or desperation, but they managed to drive their horses even faster than before. Alarm surged through her, amplifying tenfold when she noticed Arcturus did nothing to counter their desperate maneuver, save from swinging his leg back across to mount Lynette properly, returning Fang to its hook on his back.

"They're gaining on us!" She cried, silently imploring him to do something. She reached for her dirk when she saw one of the riders unsheath his katana, the silvery steel stabbing into her heart with fear alone. By unspoken consent, the riders tightened their formation, pinning Lynette between them so they could cut them at the waist with one fell stroke.

"Yank on the reins." She heard him say. She couldn't quite believe her ears.

"But that would slow the-" She started, but was cut off by Arcturus' eyes boring into hers. She yanked on the reins, not because of the rage behind his stare, nor the determination fueling it, but for the soft, mild look in them. Looking into them, she found an inner peace that soothed her, even as their pursuers drew ever closer.

_Trust me._

Lynette responded instantly to her rider's commands, digging in her heels and halting almost immediately. although not without a loud, protesting whinny. The wind shuddered to a halt, and Arcturus' arms stretched outwards, as if to catch the air itself.

Only then did she see his Nightingale blade in one hand, his curved dagger in the other, blending and cutting into the night, all at once.

Their two pursuers did not anticipate Lynette's sudden halt and charged ahead a split second too many. Blade and dagger sank into flesh just below their upraised katanas, the longer sword cutting deeper than the dagger's sinister edge. But as Serana would later find out, both served their purpose adequately, with only the rider cut by the dagger requiring a throat-slitting to be silenced.

They threw the corpses in the Valtheim, hoping travelers would see them as another duo happened upon by the bandits who marked the region as their own. Serana ran her hand through Lynette's mane as she whispered compliments into her flapping ears. Taxed by the ordeal, Lynette was covered in a sheen of sweat that shone in the moonlight, making her shimmer and gleam when she tossed her head and whinnied. Serana was energetic as ever - her respite in Breezehome, as Lydia named it, was more than enough to keep her going, but she took pity on Lynette and asked for Arcturus to set camp, if only to let Lynette rest and graze for a short while. Arcturus nodded his assent, and they led the warhorse to the base of the Valtheim Towers, where they made a small fire and warmed themselves while Lynette nibbled at patches of grass.

The flight made Serana giddy, and she felt her inhibitions lower enough to try talking to Arcturus, who had remained silent for most of the ride.

"You're a pretty good shot." She said, watching his reaction closely as he looked up. For a moment, the crackle of the flames were all she heard, and she was sure the silence between them would remain unbroken.

But then she saw him brush away his hood, revealing the sheepish grin he had on his face.

"You're not a bad rider yourself."

Serana smiled, his words warming her more than the fire ever could.


	9. Tales in the Dark

**/I screwed up. This is all on me.**

**I forgot whose review I... reviewed, and whose I didn't. No excuses (I was lazy) Won't happen this time. Enjoy. Bye./**

In the end, he just couldn't hold a grudge. It was too ungentlemanly, so he took her up to the top of the Valtheim Towers, where the cool night air became a pleasing, casual breeze, and ate a light dinner while she... watched.

He wouldn't have said anything, but it _was _getting a bit awkward, and he knew vampirism did not include immunity to boredom.

As such, he was prepared, and inwardly thankful, when she attempted conversation. "You know, I meant it when I said you were a good shot."

"What makes you think I thought otherwise?"

A gust swept across the Tower, making her sidle closer to the fire. Did vampires even feel cold? The notion seemed odd to him. It was too human.

"What's the secret?" She asked, catching his eyes with hers and pinning them with their golden gleam.

It took him a while to realise she was curious in earnest.

"Come on, Nightingale. Surely it's not some great mystery your order blathers on about." Serana pressed. Her eyes twinkled in a silent challenge.

_Or are you afraid, little Nightingale?_

"_That_'s the first thing you relate my marksmanship skills to? Your lack of faith in me cuts deeply." He retorted, finding the banter surprisingly enjoyable, given what he was using it for. It was his first line of defense, usually happened upon friends and acquaintances he found companionship in while on the road. Lydia, for one, had tried her hand at breaking through it for times beyond count. Stubborn as she was, she charged him with every topic he could think of, only to have her hopes of discovering even a single nugget of his past dashed against the wall he erected. He trusted Lydia with a lot of things, his life included, but he just didn't feel... comfortable to share something so personal with her, despite her obvious interest.

_She might as well be on her knees with a bouquet of roses in her arms, in the middle of the market stalls at high noon._

"Well, what am I supposed to think? That it's an acquired skill? I think you value yourself just a tad too much, _Dragonborn_." She chided, a gamely smiling playing upon her lips. Her eyes, twin orbs of molten gold, twinkled without blinking. Or was it the fire in them? The fire reflected in them? Arcturus found it highly confusing, yet even more intriguing.

"I happen to have a learned teacher who knew more than nock, aim and shoot." He said, careful to keep his tone as nonchalant as possible.

_Of course I would! Who else could fend off the assassins they sent to slit my father's throat every other fortnight?_

"Let me guess. Bodyguard?" She asked, grinning slyly when his eyes widened rose in surprise. "Come now, you didn't expect this to pass beneath my notice, now did you?" She said, shrugging off the thick cloak, lined with soft furs, and flipping it inside out. Laying it flat in her lap, she looked first at the faded symbols sewn onto the fabric, then back at him. Her eyes were unwavering and gamely as she savoured his uncertainty, and he fought the urge to squirm. A multitude of options paraded themselves across his thoughts, but he had never felt so indecisive. Should he tell her? Should he stay silent? Should he ruffle his feathers and snap out that it was none of her business?

_Then why did you bring her up here, where the only warmth was the fire you both shared, the only colours were your eyes and hers, and the only words that would eventually come were your deepest, darkest secrets? _He thought, berating himself for not staying at the base of the towers where the occasional vagabond would at least act as entertainment.

Then an opportune answer came to him, and his mood upended so quickly it made his head swim.

_Because I'd make it a fair trade._

"So be it, _vampire_." He said, injecting newfound determination into his eyes and meeting hers directly. "I shall tell you everything you wish to know about me, under one condition."

He knew the unspoken taunt would draw her in.

"Name it." Her voice was nonchalant, as if she were commenting on the evening breeze, but he was far too absorbed to miss the thinly-veiled anticipation.

"You may ask whatever you wish, but after I give my answer, you must answer one question from me as well." He laid down the terms with a giddiness in his voice, something he thought he'd lost with the passage of childhood.

Serana cocked an eyebrow, her golden eyes gleaming with delight. "A game then, is it?" It was as obvious a stall as could be, and he would not give her the chance to hesitate.

"Or are you loath to relinquish your own deepest, darkest secrets, _daughter of Coldharbour_?" He challenged, taking on a haughty tone that would have been appropriate in a childish dare. He had always wanted to do that.

_Don't get too excited... _He heard a voice whisper in his head, swift as wind and cold as shadow. Was it her, or his overactive imagination?

"I hope you didn't bet your hand on me folding, Arcturus." Serana said, shifting so that she was directly across from him. "I'll let you go first. I'm feeling generous with this game of yours."

He came this close to rubbing his hands together. "First things first, how old are you?"

The mixture of surprise and indignation in her expression was priceless. "You would ask a lady such a question?"

He raised a finger, shaking his head. "Ah, ah, ah. Answers before questions." He warned, feeling a rush of giddy pleasure when she bristled.

"Fine, be callous and insensitive. I was born five years into the Alessian Empire." She scoffed.

"That would put you over a thousand years old... And I've asked young, nubile ladies for matters far more direct in the past. I believe it's my turn once again."

The look of outrage on her face was too much. He burst into laughter.

"How much of that thousand did you sleep through?"

"Eight hundred, give or take fifty years. What's the name?" She asked, poking at the center of a faded sun, struck through in its heart by a golden spear."

"House Sunspear, if it please my lady." He paused and contemplated the grin she hid. "Yes, my family on the father's side likes to overcompensate. When were you turned?"

"To a vampire?" She confirmed quickly, gasping when the querying high note at the end caught up to her.

He grinned. "I'll let you off on that one."

"Let's see... It was three months after my eighteenth name day when my father deemed me fit for the ritual. Why do you ask?"

"Nothing. For a time, I found it amusing to gauge your age by your features, but the immortality bit caught me. What was the ritual?"

There was no quick answer this time, nor a lighthearted retort. He saw the mirth drain from her face and felt his heart skip a beat. Had he gone too far, too soon?

"I... I'd rather not discuss it. It's in the past now, and it's not something you need, or would wish, to know." As she said the words, Arcturus felt the air around him go cold, as the accumulated warmth from their conversation died down a little. He studied her carefully, finding her eyes shaded in different emotions with every blink of his own.

One blink, and he saw eyes of crimson, quivering and shaking as if in the clutches of a terrible agony. He saw her avert her eyes in an attempt to hide it, but he saw the blood for what it was and felt the pain nonetheless.

_Power comes at a price, child. _A voice whispered in his head.

Another blink, and her eyes were golden once more. They shook no more, but the brilliant gleam in them was nowhere to be found, however, and without it they were dull and lifeless.

_A life of lies and death, at the cost of truly living and dying. She still wonders at its worth, at what destiny has chosen for her, and it weighs heavily on her._

It was then that he realised how foolish his question was. What did he wish to hear? A step-by-step rendition of her ascension into vampirism? It was not the communing, the offerings, the sacrifices or whatever it may have entailed that mattered. As with his simple initiation in the bare Nightingale Hall, they were merely contrivances, small print on the contract he ultimately signed. All that mattered was what she gained, and what she lost. He could see both without putting her through the pain of recalling them, and nor did he wish to. He knew it hurt.

"Wouldn't want to push you too hard. After all, it's only starting to get fun." He said, smiling good-naturedly to show that he did not mean to pry. "Your turn."

She nodded with a grateful smile, eyes gleaming like they were veiled in tears. Perhaps they really were. It only served to reinforce the gravity of the ordeal, and he suppressed the curiosity that came with it.

"What of you?" She asked after a moment of thought. "This game should be going both ways, and I'm sure my sob stories are standard fare compared to the legacy of Arcturus Sunspear, Master of the Thieves' Guild, member of the Nightingale Triumvirate, and chosen of the Divines."

As the titles rattled off of her tongue, he felt as if the calm, placid landscape surrounding him were melting away, replaced by a hall of stone and marble, as if he could look down and see himself seated in a high-backed chair chiseled out of polished gold, instead of sitting cross-legged on top of a broken stone tower, battered and bruised by the relentless wind.

He tried to answer her, to come up with a witty retort that would buy him time, if only to assemble the bits and pieces of memories rushing past his eyes at blinding speed into a coherent tale. But the memories wouldn't let him.

_He sat down in the chair, gripping the delicately-sculpted dragons that served as handrests, even if reaching them took the entire length of his arms. His legs, not quite long enough to touch the marble tiles, dangled aimlessly in empty air. The chair was not made for him._

_ "Look, my son. Look upon the chairs surrounding this round table. None of them can match our splendor, our intricacy and our golden gleam. When the time comes, this chair shall be yours, and even the Emperor himself will lean to hear you whisper." He said, ruffling his hair. "The glories of this Empire will be yours."_

_ He didn't understand. The back of the chair was still too tall. The dragons were still too far apart, and the ground too far from his dangling feet. It was too much. The chair was not made for him._

And then it wasn't him sitting in the chair anymore, but his father. This time, he was the one standing in the shadows, with the stone-faced guards surrounding the Elder Council Chambers, watching his father in his unique, golden, high-backed chair, his hands clutching golden dragons by the snout. He found out that his father had had it handcrafted, its worth in materials and detail only second to the Dragonthrone at the head of the table.

_When the time comes, this chair will be yours._

"But I don't want it."

He didn't realise he had said the words aloud until he saw her frowning in confusion, mistaking his words for reluctance.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." She said.

He almost said yes and turned her down flat, but the sights and sounds flooding his eyes and ears stayed his tongue. They pulsed within him, imprisoned in his memories and buried deep beneath the shadowy armour he had crafted for himself, to keep him safe from those who would seek to get at him, under the skin, at who he really was. That was the power he gave himself - the power to forget - and it was only now that he realised that it, too, had a price that needed to be paid sooner or later.

"No, no! I just..." He sighed. "I'm making a mess of this game, aren't I?"

"Hey, you started the game in the first place. You can put an end to it and start spilling your guts anytime you want. I can listen."

_I can listen._

Those three words, and the sincerity he heard backing them, surprised him. He looked in her eyes in search of deceit, of anything that hinted at an ulterior motive, and found nothing. He felt the mental images grind to a halt, slowly being replaced by an image of her, seen in an entirely new light. He turned his eyes away quickly, before the awkwardness settled in, but the distance between them, both figuratively and literally, felt that much closer.

When he found her in the crypt, he had thought her a baggage, a person of interest to be delivered from one point to another.

When he protected her from her own kind hunting her, and her from their nasty parting gift, he considered her a companion, an ally he could grow to enjoy having by his side. He never thought it could progress further than that, be it with her or with anyone else he'd ever met.

Now, sitting atop the lonely peaks of the Valtheim Towers, he looked at Serana, with her glowing, golden eyes, snow-white skin and razor-sharp fangs, and he saw a friend. It was something he hadn't had in... Well, come to think of it, he didn't think he ever had one to begin with.

_A peculiar first choice. _He thought, but he dare not say it aloud. He just nodded. _It's a step forward, I guess. _He noticed her smile for the first time, and realised her eyes never left him ever since his trip down memory lane started.

"I suppose I should begin with a bit of background," he began, "such as the fact that I was born the sole heir of House Sunspear, a deep-rooted family of lobbyists and advisors with strong ties to the Mede bloodline, which currently sits the Dragonthrone at the top of White Gold Tower. In your time, it would have been named the Temple of the Ancestors."

"Did you say _at the top_?" She asked, scoffing. "Must be quite the exercise for the Emperor to get there."

"Maybe so. Most of the daily affairs are managed near the base, in the Imperial Palace, anyway. There's a circular room in the middle that houses a round table which serves as the meeting chambers for the Elder Council. The Dragonthrone is at the proverbial head of the table, and the seat for House Sunspear is right next to it." He said, clasping his hands together. "That should give you an idea of the sway it holds in session. And I was to be the heir to that."

"Most mortals would kill for power like that." Serana pointed out. "To be the right hand of the Emperor of Tamriel."

"Not me. Not after I discover the price you pay to get it, and what you pay for the rest of your life to keep it." He snapped, a bit too harshly. He tossed an apologetic glance at her, only to miss his mark and find her not at the opposite end of the fire, but right next to him. The proximity seemed to elude him until that very moment, but he felt strangely comfortable with it.

_One does not keep friends at arms' length._

_ How about friends that bite?_

He brushed the stray thoughts away, focusing on his tale. Now that he had started to tell it, he felt an all-consuming urge to finish it. He needed someone to know other than himself.

"I didn't tell you about my father, did I? That's because there isn't much to tell, save for him being the de-facto right hand of the Emperor. That title in its own pretty much sums up all he is and, of course, as his heir, that's all he expects me to become. It all sounded well and good to a boy only barely past his seventh name day. My father had everything - a name, a fortune, a loving wife and a whip-smart son that's good with words and quick with a blade. In my eyes, he was as good, as incorruptible as the Divines, and maybe even a little better than them."

"Sounds a bit too good to be true, especially that last part." She said with a smile upon her lips. She didn't know that things would start to go horribly wrong. She didn't, but he did.

"But even gods fall from grace." He said. Her smile lost its warmth, and her eyes flashed at the sudden solemnity of his voice.

"It was a hot day in Sun's Height. I had just finished my training with the master-at-arms and had gotten distracted by the smell of lavender. We never planted those in the garden, but I was able to follow the scent up to my parents' study, high up in the tower of our family fort. I heard strange noises coming from the bedroom, just beyond the door, so I cracked it open by a hair and peeked in."

_Moans from a voice he did not recognise, rising and falling with the strains on the mattress. Whispers. A voice he knew, murmuring encouragement. Moans, rising and falling._

_ The mark of a thief, at so young an age. Karliah chose you well. _Nocturnal whispered.

"I saw a man on the bed, breeches down to his knees and his legs spread, with a red-haired woman bouncing between them. Up and down, up and... down. I couldn't move, couldn't speak. I knew what they were doing, but I also knew that my mother had black hair."

"Divines..." Serana whispered, joining him as he stared blankly into the fire. He felt her fingers reach for his. He shook his head slowly, but it was not to refuse her.

"I must've made a noise, or the door must've creaked, because the next thing I knew, my father was at the door, grabbing me by the wrist and dragging me off. Talos, he didn't even take the time to lace up his fucking breeches." He had to clench his teeth at the last few words. The emotions that came with them were too much to contain with words alone.

_I hate you._

"He locked me in my room, and before long my mother came to find me. I knew, from the red in her eyes, that she had been crying, but she still smiled and tried to coax me to sleep."

_"Your father... He's doing all that he can to keep this family together, to keep it where it is right now. Sometimes, the family asks for more than usual, and..." Even she couldn't keep lying to herself, and he watched her break down, right there, in front of his son who's had his world shattered for him in a heartbeat._

"After that, things never got back to normal again. My father's facade dropped, and with it went the illusions I had that the future he had planned for me was what was best for me. To him, his son was lost; he just hasn't lost his heir yet."

"And what of your mother?" Serana asked. Her hand squeezed his, showing her compassion in spite of how cold they felt.

"Remember when I said my father had a loving wife? He really did, but the problem was that it didn't go both ways. There had been times before, when I'd hear muffled cries coming from beyond closed doors. After my little discovery, I guess he just didn't think it mattered all that much if the door was open or closed. My mother would still come to my room and try to be the mother she wants to be, but I saw the scars and bruises. Those were the ones she couldn't hide. Not from me."

_With every name day, she would tell him more and more. She would confide in him, her flesh and blood, for she knew he would not betray her. She knew he had no love for him, no more than she did._

"It was not all bad, though. I couldn't find what I needed in my family, so I ventured outward. I began to lead envoys to other, lesser, houses, venturing into cities under disguise and generally doing things that went against my father's wishes. There was this one time, when I actually did his bidding and carried a message to the ruling family, House Mede." He stopped himself. "Are you familiar with the current High Queen of Skyrim?"

"You mentioned her once... What was it... Elisif, yes? Jarl Elisif the Fair, recent widow of the High King?"

"I did not deign to mention her full name - Elisif Mede, the Rose of Imperial City and the elder daughter of Titus Mede II, Emperor of the Cyrodiilic Empire. I met her on that very envoy, and... well, things took off from there."

_"Well met, my lady Elisif. You truly are as charming as they say." He said, taking her dainty hand and kissing her on the knuckle. Her cheeks carried the slightest hint of flush, and he soon discovered the reason for it, when no one was looking and she whispered in his ear._

_ "We both know we're well past that, Arcturus." She whispered, a giggle escaping her._

_ "Well, we wouldn't want everyone to know so soon, now would we?"_

"And, naturally, my father picked up on the intimacy between us, and he just couldn't resist sticking his pudgy little fingers in." Arcturus downright hissed. Where his father's betrayal had earned his fury, this memory recalled something far more potent - hatred.

"Our little affair was forbidden, as whoever wins Elisif's hand would win the Dragonthrone itself in short order. Titus understood that quite well, and he was not deaf to the rumours surrounding House Sunspear's bid for the throne. He knew that we had to be kept in check, and that he had to act before Elisif decided she would take charge of her own life."

_"You honour House Tyrian, and that of its young heir, with your daughter's hand, Your Grace." He remembered the words, spoken in front of the assembly of every single noble house in the Empire, all too clearly. "On behalf of House Tyrian, I, Lord Silas of the Valus Peaks, agree that our two houses should be bound together by oath, blood, and by undying love, in sight of the Eight Divines."_

"So he went ahead of her, while he still could, and proffered her hand to a minor house in the west that he firmly had control over." He forced out a dry chuckle. "House Tyrian, the lords of the Valus Mountain Pass, had never been important enough to come into my father's notice, and to think that they were the ones to steal his bid to the throne away from him..."

_"And let those who would say yea or nay to this pledge utter their words now, in sight of gods and men, or be silent forevermore." The priest cried, taking his hand in one, hers in another. She saw her eyes land on him, veiled in a film of silent tears she dared not let fall. She begged him soundlessly, wordlessly, but he could do nothing but watch._

"Elisif..." He said. He had to grind out the name, for with it came a weight he loathed but deserved. "My father wouldn't have it, so he set the Dark Brotherhood on him, on their wedding day. They killed him where everyone could see, where Elisif could see the arrow going through his heart."The story came out of him word by word, syllable by syllable as if read from a book. But he could tell he was not fooling her. Every so often, his voice cracked, and he knew his eyes were all over the place.

"But of course, there's no way to prove that my father did it, so Titus couldn't do a thing except keep Elisif from us. Then along came the Talos Crisis, when the Nords came around and threw a fit about the ban on Talos worship. You must've heard Heimskr screaming his lungs out about it in Whiterun. The Emperor, in his infinite wisdom and occasional outburst of wit, figured he could hit two birds with one stone, and married Elisif off to Skyrim's, well, former High King. And _then_, not two years into the marriage, this godsforsaken Stormcloak Rebellion happens, and Elisif gets to watch her husband murdered, _again_, right in front of her eyes."

He slammed a fist into the stone beside him, the white heat of his emotions getting the better of him. He had left them buried, left to rot and fester, for too long. He felt something odd at the corners of his eyes, and he dabbed at them incredulously with his knuckles. They came away damp. He tossed a quick glance at Serana and found her staring back, her eyes glistening with the same moisture that now stained his fingers.

"I'm sorry." He said, feeling a twinge of guilt for bringing her to tears. "I'm not very good at this storytelling thing." He tried on an awkward smile. It was not his intention to win her sympathy with his tale, affecting as it might have been to himself.

And yet, now that he had it, somehow he did not want to let it go.

Her hand squeezed his again. He realised she had not let go since she first took hold of him. " I know that you probably won't believe this, but-"

"You understand?" He asked, mindful of not being too harsh. He had not trusted anyone with his past before, for fear of what his identity would bring him, be it good or ill. He knew not if it was time that had eroded his insecurity, or the odd sense of trustworthiness this woman, this _vampire_, gave him that had him going so deep, drove him face to face with his guilt.

He met her eyes and did not flinch.

_Convince me._

"Yes, yes, I do." Serana said, holding her gaze for a short while, then turned and stared off into the distance. He felt her hand pulling away from his. He let her depart, lest he should give her any undue pressure.

"I wish I could say that the turning changed the way things were between us - my father, mother and I - but that would be a lie." She said. "My father, Harkon, had wanted it at first for all three of us. Our family owned a vast shipping empire between Skyrim and Solstheim, and he spent a lot of time in his work. He wanted more time with us, but there was always another route to plan, another delay that had to be looked after and another fleet to be managed. After Molag Bal was done with him, he had all the time in the world for us, as well as his business. For a while, it actually went fine. Sure, it was a bit weird, to sneak in cattle to feed on so we wouldn't go mad and take walks in the market in the dead of night, but it was working out. That is, until he found the prophecy."

He heard the sudden complication in her voice and saw her pull the Elder Scroll to her front. He had all but forgotten it.

"Then, he couldn't stop poring over it. It was like it sucked him in, demanding every last ounce of his attention, and the worst part was that he willingly gave it."

She looked at him, as if to see if he was still listening. He nodded silently. He was not one for words or breathless exclamations; he preferred to listen quietly.

"He had become convinced that we were some... higher form of being than mortals like," she began to gesture at him, but stopped herself, "well, not like you. But we had one weakness, and this was exactly what was needed to overcome it." She drummed her fingers on the Scroll.

"He forgot everything, Arcturus. It was like the purpose of him turning in the first place was wiped from his mind, replaced by some loyalty to some godsforsaken pack I never thought we were in. He began to turn more, most of them unwillingly, saying that they would help him in his efforts. Soon, less became more, and more became something else entirely, and suddenly he wasn't the father I remember him to be." Serana said, and he thought he heard her choke, strangling her own voice.

"He had a heart once, even after he turned. Then it was like it's... gone, and with it went my family." She said. "And I see now that not even a thousand years could slake his thirst for power."

Then she fell silent, and for a while the sound of water rushing by beneath them filled in for their conversation. If he could still call it just that, that is.

"We have quite a few things in common, then, don't we?" He decided to break the silence after she began to stir.

"In the form of being cut from a different cloth than normal people, maybe?" She offered with a shaky smile. He did not seem to notice it before, but the glimmer in her eyes actually made her profoundly lovely. As he dwelled on the newfound prospect, even the fire seemed to flicker, as if to give way to her loveliness.

"That, and dysfunctional father figures in our lives." He finished. She laughed softly at that, and he felt the rough edges of his emotions smoothen out inside.

A howl sounded in the distance just as he yawned. The tale had taken more out of him than he thought.

"Ah, one more thing before you collapse." She said, touching him on the arm. "This Scroll I have here? It's not just for show, and I think I should tell you what it-"

He leaned in and pressed a finger to her lips, and her eyes widened. He shushed her, gently, tenderly, before removing himself from her lips.

"Don't tell me." He said, smiling. "It'll be best for when we reach the Dawnguard. They need to know what you know, and it saves me the trouble to act surprised when you tell them."

He began to draw away, but stopped when he found her rooted to the spot, staring at him with a peculiar expression that, oddly enough, seemed to be infectious. The wind howled past them without stopping, cold as night could be. It certainly would not hurt to have someone by his bedroll, keeping him warm-

_She'd probably chew you to bits while you're asleep, Arcturus. Perish. The. Thought._ He thought.

"Good night, Serana. You'll take first watch, won't you?" He quickly gathered his bow and arrows and descended the steps. It was much warmer inside the tower itself, and he inwardly berated himself for coming up with such a novel, foolish idea.

It took her a few moments to recover.

"Hey! I never sai-" She began.

"Too late!" He finished.


	10. In Broad Daylight

She nearly fell from the saddle when she heard the words.

"The fort isn't far now." Arcturus said with a sprightly edge to his voice, slowing Lynette to a casual trot. The warhorse tossed her mane, the movement catching unnaturally bright sunlight betwixt tufts of ink-black horsehair, making it gleam like a sprinkle of black diamonds. The sheer intensity of its glare forced her eyes away, but she soon found her surroundings to be similar, if not more sordid, predicaments for her eyes. It was like they were poking and prodding at them with sharp, tangible light, creating a landscape littered with sparkling gems of every hue.

Had her mind been more at ease, she would have appreciated the otherworldly sight. Instead, she blinked hard and tried to ignore them, more interested in the narrow road they were on. It was not narrow enough to be called a pass, but the dense, needle-leafed trees flanking them made for an oppressing sight, shaving away the open ground on either side until the only way left was forward. For that, she leaned out of her saddle to look, anxiety overcoming her cautiousness when it came to horseback riding.

_Maybe there's still a ways to go. He just recognised something. He just recognised something that told him he was not far, when it still is. _She assured herself, forcing herself to believe the words as every little hoofbeat brought her closer to the Dawnguard.

_"Intriguing," _she recalled his words,_ "you don't seem to mind being in the company of vampire hunters."_

_ Well, they're not a runaway noble who shares a like-minded, dysfunctional father figure with me. They're not Nightingales, either. Or Dragonborn. _She thought.

_They're not you._

The last few words came to her quite suddenly, tumbling out of a forgotten niche of her thoughts without warning, and she had to bite her tongue to hold them in. She chanced a glimpse at the man in question, deflating when she saw his back to her, wreathed in a curtain of black from the neck down. She counted herself lucky for it to be him that the Dawnguard sent to investigate her stony tomb. She was sure the journey would be nigh on unbearable had it been one of those stone-faced, bigoted vampire haters with a scarred past.

_If the journey doesn't fall apart before it even begins, that is. _She thought about voicing this gratitude to him, but every time she tried to work up her courage, a tidal wave of embarrassment would wash over and away her desire to. It was a curious sensation, to feel her cheeks light up with a ruddy, yet phantom, warmth, after being buried underground for at least a thousand years. It scared and fascinated her at the same time.

One of Lynette's hooves stumbled into a dent in the road, and Serana reached out unconsciously to steady herself. Her hands landed on his hips, instinctively circumventing his cloak, and she quickly retracted them as she regained her footing on the stirrups. She held them up to chest height, inches away from his back.

They shook, and the slight discrepancy in Lynette's trot drew her attentions back to the journey, the road, and its inevitable end.

They shook, and she knew it was fear that disquieted them.

_Calm yourself, Serana. They won't hurt you. They need to let you talk. _She told herself.

_What if they decide they should _make _me talk?_

_ He won't let them._

_ Will he not? _She asked herself. Then she blanched, horrified at her own thoughts for posing such a question. _Can I trust him?_

"You have sharp nails, milady." Arcturus joked, taking a hand off the reins and clutching his waist, where she had grabbed onto him. He groaned mockingly, his bright mood contrasting but not influencing her own.

"Sorry," she said, and felt him tense at the word.

"We're not usually this apologetic, especially this early. Summarising my observations of your mood swings over the past few days, you tend to be snappy when sleep draws near." He recited with an air, then twisted round to meet her eyes, surprising her when she noticed his unmasked face. It was only her third time, in total, running her eyes across strong jaws, stubbled cheeks and the mesmerising cobalt of his eyes, and her vain attempt to hide her emotions was dashed and forgotten in an instant. No one had ever had this effect, with this potency, on her.

She couldn't decide on which to credit - his acumen in reading emotions, or her own doors being wide open to him - when a knowing gleam crossed his eyes. He yanked on the reins, making Lynette stop and fix her watery, disinterested eyes on them, and gave her a wan, but earthy, smile.

"If I was Lynette, I would have thrown you off for digging your heels into my flank for so long." He motioned to Lynette's emotionless eyes. She nickered as if in agreement. "See, even she knows something's wrong with you." He said.

"Fine. I need to know what you intend to do." She said, blunt and direct. She didn't want any implications to get in the way.

"Haven't we gone over this before? I'm bringing you to the Dawnguard, safe and sound, so we can finally know what's making the vampires as bold as to launch attacks on cities, feed in broad daylight and, most importantly, send assassins to hunt us down."

"But what happens afterwards? What happens after I've told you everything you want to know? Vampire hunters aren't known for their hospitality, you know."

_Well, most of them aren't._

"Would you believe me if I said I had a plan?" He asked.

"It helps if you tell me what it is."

"Odds are you're not going to like it very much."

"Try me."

"You're very impatient for a vampire, you know that?" He said, teasing her with an amused grin. She could hear it in his voice, though - an undercurrent of resignation, layered over by reassurance.

"I'm forever stuck being a young adult, Arcturus." She said. "Impatience is the least of your worries if you don't spill your beans now."

Arcturus leaned over to one side, hovering next to one of Lynette's ears. "I think she just threatened us, Lyn." Lynette, to her credit, saw the merits of remaining uninvolved.

"All right, Serana, you'll have to know sooner or later. Come on." He swung one leg over the saddle, dismounting with a flourish. He seemed confident in his plan, and she was half-tempted to believe him for just that.

_You can start making sense of yourself any time now, Serana._

She took longer to get her boots on the ground, on account of her unfamiliarity with horses. She put both hands on Lynette's back to steady herself, then precariously unhooked one boot from the stirrups, then the other. She stole a glance at Arcturus to see if he was amusing himself with her clumsiness, and was rewarded with her other boot slipping from its stirrup, forcing her to land with a stumble and a stifled yelp.

"Somebody's sleepy too, I take it." She heard Arcturus' voice vault over Lynette's back. "You won't fall asleep in front of the Dawnguard, will you?"

"If you stop making me take all the watches, maybe."

"Here," she heard him say, followed by the slightest hints of clinking metal as he came around, "this should wake you right up."

In his hands were a pair of metal shackles. She shrank away from him immediately.

"Whoa there, what do you think you're doing with those?" She asked.

He chuckled. "I knew this would be how you'd react-"

"Damn right it is." She cut him off a bit more sternly than she intended, but it seemed to have gotten the message across - She was serious. His grin vanished accordingly.

"If you walk in there," he pointed, and she turned round to find a pitch-black hole punched through the mountainside, just beyond the treeline. Had they not stopped here, she would never have noticed it. "If you walk in there free as a bird and pointy-ended like a vampire, you would have your stuffing shot out of you with at least a dozen crossbows. Plus," he clicked one shackle into place, then pried it apart with two fingers, "these things are so old, they don't lock properly anymore."

The nonchalant, almost light-hearted way he said it brought an ill-desired smile to her lips, and his grin found its place soon after. "Glad you see things my way." He said with that lopsided grin of his, and suddenly the warmth was there again, creeping into her cheeks. She ducked her head and fought the silly smile she found on her lips while her mind struggled with strange, tingly emotions. At that moment, she felt an odd, all-encompassing sense of security descend on her, making her ready to believe that the man in front of her, offering her a pair of rusted iron shackles to slap onto her wrists, had everything ahead planned out, with her best interests at heart.

She, of all people, understood the dangers of unconditional trust.

_But gods, is it painful, never getting to trust someone completely._

_ But is _he _worth your trust? Is he, who has taken sides with those who would hunt your kind to their end, worthy of a leap of faith?_

She lifted her head to find him there, waiting for her patiently. The sun shone glaringly from above and beyond him, eclipsing his unmasked features save for his eyes. She met his gaze and held it, weathering the jabs of sunlight. A giddy wave of foolhardiness washed over her, and she let it pass uncontested.

_Yes._

She held out her wrists, and felt the touch of cold steel, chilling yet surprisingly gentle, shortly afterwards. Secretly, she gave them a little tug when Arcturus turned round to tie Lynette up, finding the shackles to be as easily shrugged off as he had demonstrated. A part of her was relieved at the discovery, but it was drowned out by something far larger, pressing down and knotting her stomach.

_I thought you trust him. _She heard a voice say. It was her own.

_I do._

_ Then why the panic test?_

_ Trust is not the equal of complacency._

There was no retort after that, but the sinking feeling in her gut remained. She ignored it and found Arcturus readjusting his mask, his eyes once again the only thing she could see.

"I promise you this: You will not stay in these shackles for a moment longer than necessary." He said, and for the first time, she saw through the formless mask that hid his emotions, for what was burning beneath much too bright to escape her. "And you are a guest among them, whether they like it or not."

"They might not take that very well," she observed, "and naturally they'd expect you to be on their side."

_But is he really on yours?_

"I'm not on anyone's side." He answered, giving the sigil on his breast a light tap to remind her. "Well, except for hers, perhaps."

"Then why fall in with the Dawnguard in the first place?" She asked, more out of curiosity than anything else. She watched as he drew himself up, all serious, the look in his eyes hinting at something she could not place.

"They're saving the world. It's what Dragonborns do, so I thought I'd pitch in." He grinned, and she didn't know if she should scoff, laugh or chortle as he led the way through the entrance.

_Maybe a bit of all three... _She mused, her heightened senses, coupled with the promise of faint light in the distance, picking out the way in the dark easily. A part of her wondered at the depth of it, finding it mildly amusing that the Dawnguard would have to hide underground when they should be the ones out in the open.

_It does seem a bit narrow for a fort. And dark. Not that I have a problem with that. Gods forbid they have a miniature sun shining on them for twenty-four hours straight._

When the faint light at the end of the tunnel expanded into full-fledged landscape, flanked by Arcturus' helping hand, she couldn't help but gape in wonder.

As the last shadows from the tunnel departed her, Serana found herself at the mouth of dried-up ravine, perfectly secluded from the outside heralding a natural beauty that stole her breath away. She took in a picturesque path, flanked by lush, green grass and flowers of every hue imaginable, in silent awe, right up until she saw a gleaming lake of aqua-blue set between it and the peaks beyond. Then she gasped audibly, only to have it swept away by a constant, but not at all unpleasant, buzz of water cascading down from the mountains, melted from ice pristine and pure.

"Dayspring Canyon. The Dawnguard do know how to pick their hideouts." Arcturus said. Curiously enough, he had a hand on the pommel of his sword. It was an idle gesture, but it reminded her of the shackles on her wrists and drew her attention to the undercurrent of caution in his voice. She followed his gaze, finding it more methodical than appreciative.

"You don't say." She drifted off when her eyes went far left, tracing the outline of a gargantuan, grey-bricked fort that seemed just a tad out of place. "But you'd think a group of vampire hunters would base themselves somewhere less... gloomy."

"Apparently, it's currently in renovation."

"As well they should. My father probably wouldn't find it intimidating enough." She said, mentally comparing this new discovery with the old castle back home.

_Let's just say having the sea as a moat gives points for creativity._

"Best not mention that in their faces, Serana. From my prior dealings with them, I've gathered they have fragile egos."

"Right."

She couldn't help but gawk at the lucidity of the lake as they passed it by, finding it to be little more than a shimmering pane of glass where visibility was concerned. She squinted at little slivers of light darting to and fro beneath the surface and was surprised to recognise them, all finned, tailed and round, watery-eyed, as fish. She had never seen water so clear back at the castle, where the sea was turgid and dotted with ice. It was almost green. Here, it was a crispy, fetching blue, and she wanted to do naught else but stare at it for at least a few hours.

_Like his eyes._

_ Stop it. _She thought, severing the train of thought before it could implicate itself in her features. She felt twin sensations - warm, fuzzy bewilderment and cold, stark alarm - swell within her. It was not the first time something even remotely related to him induced such feelings in her. She tore her eyes away from the water before she began to see him reflected in it and picked up her pace.

The verdant natural scenery quickly gave way to something else entirely as Serana saw the fort edge closer. She steeled herself when she saw cruxes built with wooden stakes litter the road, their tips chipped and jagged and facing outwards. Up ahead, a three-metre high gate made out of solid logs barred their way, denying her vision of what lay within the last stretch of dirt that led to the fort itself. It unnerved her; A line of archers could be training their sights on the gate with silver-tipped arrows and she would be none the wiser until it was too late. Arcturus, however, did not seem to share her concern, as she saw him stroll up to the gate and push it open. To add to the overall insecurity gnawing at the pit of her stomach, the gate was not even locked.

It was only when Arcturus ushered her through the gates when she realised what was out of place. Frantically, she tried to tap into her instincts once again, to access that which she substituted plain, unwieldy sight for when she saw the fish in the pond. Anywhere else, she would be able to detect the life forces of fish, fowl, wild beasts and even humans. Especially those of humans.

Here, she felt nothing.

Then she saw them.

They popped up like squirrels out of the bushes, setting the leaves arustle as they brandished their crossbows. She saw Arcturus shrink back, one arm reaching back with its palm open and the other going to his sword. He remained silent as some of their ambushers flung insults at them, most of them directed at her, although she heard a sporadic few directed at him as well. She knew his pride remained untarnished, no matter what they said; He could, with one single word, sweep them all skyward like leaves before a summer storm. Given the colour of their worn leather vests, it seemed like a fitting metaphor.

She saw someone else emerge from farther up the path, the cold, dispassionate eyes he ran her through with setting him apart from the fresh-faced vampire hunters that surrounded her. His hazelnut skin painted him decidedly Redguard, but when he approached her, and Arcturus before her, his voice sounded distinctly Nordic.

"Do you have any idea what in Oblivion's name you're doing?" The hostility in the words would not have been out of place had it been directed at her. She watched Arcturus closely, gauging his reaction.

"We weren't followed." He answered plainly. She had never heard his voice so... empty. It was like he was deliberately giving the Redguard absolutely nothing.

"How can you be sure?" The Redguard asked.

"Isran, every last vampire in Skyrim is hunting for her right now. _Her own father_ ordered a dozen assassins to drag her to him by the hair." From the undercurrent of annoyance, Arcturus did not take his doubting him too kindly.

The Redguard, Isran, scoffed. "Figures. Betrayal runs in their blood." He looked past him to her, eyes now tainted with disdain. "What's your story, bloodsucker? Too craven to die?"

_I'd take you with me if it was just me and you. _She wanted to shout back, baring her fangs as she did. All too easily, she felt the animalistic side of her rear and snarl, threatening to devolve her into a feral, mindless beast that lived to prey on mortals or died trying. So, she ground her teeth and gave him a straight answer.

"I have knowledge of a plot that endangers all of Tamriel." She said, brushing her hood back to retrieve the Scroll on her back. The sun glared at her, as did every vampire hunter and their crossbow. She heard a few of them mutter in apparent disgust and decided to ignore them. She never did like getting a tan. "This is a part of it."

"Well, I'll be... Tolan wasn't bluffing after all." Isran murmured. He was genuinely surprised. To Arcturus, he said, "where is he?"

"Dead." Arcturus said.

Isran nodded. "They always were too headstrong. Even Stendarr can't protect them from an entire clan of vampires, not to mention an old and hierarchal one like Volkihar." She saw him glance at the brooch at her collarbone. "I assume it knows how to read that thing?"

She spoke up for herself. "I've seen this fragment of the prophecy hundreds of years ago. I can tell you what it means."

"Don't keep me in suspense."

Serana turned to the throng of vampire hunters surrounding them, wondering how her words would affect them. Would it frighten them? Shock them? Enrage them? Or would it be a mixture of all three, driving them mad with myriad emotions, as it had with her father?

"The prophecy tells of a ritual involving Auri-El, or Akatosh in your pantheon. If it is performed, then the world will be plunged in eternal night. The sun would be no more, and the vampires you see now will walk not just Skyrim, but all of Tamriel, gathering to claim their dominion over mortals."

One by one, she watched their faces pale, their expressions tighten, and their eyes bulge. They all remained motionless, but she could see their minds churning, imagining the sunlight that, even now, warmed and protected them to be gone. As she scanned them, however, she found some with blank, hard faces, as if hiding their emotions deep underneath. She reached out with her senses, trying to get at the fear and confusion that she refused to believe were absent in them, but came up blank. There was a charge in the air that seemed to dull her instincts, but she refused to let the matter drop. There was something off about them. Something... inhuman.

She almost missed Isran muttering to himself in a mixture of annoyance and self-assurance. "I knew this would happen. I knew it, I told them, but none of them had the sense to listen. But we're not ready. Not yet..."

A voice drew the self-absorbed Redguard from his thoughts. It came from atop the ridge, from a wiry Nord with a thick mane of unkempt hair. "Isran, you are not seriously considering what this..." he thrust an arm in her general direction, and she fought to maintain a neutral expression, "creature is telling you? For all we know, it's trying to draw our attention away while they roam the land unchallenged!"

_Because I'd lay down an Elder Scroll at your feet and still lie about the whole thing. _Serana fumed silently, finding it hard to decide if their idiocy stemmed from prejudice or plain stupidity.

"I say we shoot it and be done with it." Another, emboldened by the first, spoke up. She tensed when numerous others murmured in agreement, prompting the Nord to press his argument.

"Isran, you said so yourself. You can never underestimate these abominations-"

"Which is expressly why we have to heed warnings like these!" Isran roared, silencing the chatter among the men. "As outlandish as it may be, this prophecy is the only explanation for the amount of activity we've seen in the past few months. If the vampires see fit to emerge from hiding for it, then we have no choice but to follow suit, and hope that we are not too late."

There came a moment of silence as Isran passed his eyes over each and every member of the Dawnguard, daring them to challenge him. For some reason, Serana found it difficult to stare directly at the man without the canyon's unnaturally bright sunlight getting into her eyes. It was as if it was bathing him in it to the exclusion of everything else, and she knew it would have made for an intimidating sight for the Dawnguard, regardless of their alignment.

_It certainly shoves nails into my eyes. _She thought.

"Good, everyone's in agreement. Now you all need to stop gawking around and get back to whatever you're doing. Celann, how many recruits have you rounded up?" Isran addressed the haggardly Nord he had silenced earlier.

"Five, maybe six. I've sent many others this way, but some of them have not shown up yet." Celann replied, shooting her an icy glare as if blaming her for their disappearances.

_Not my fault your job outlook looks bleak. It's a dangerous occupation after all. _Serana silently retorted. _If anything, I made it safer on the road here._

She tossed a glance at Arcturus, calmly and wordlessly observing the exchange, albeit with a faraway look in his eyes. Out of all who had heard the prophecy here, from her mouth, he would have been the one who trusted her the most. It was small wonder that it would hit him the hardest.

_What does eternal night mean to someone like him? _She wondered. Her mind wandered, pushing Isran's wayward voice back as she envisioned a world without sunlight. There, she saw a figure dressed completely in black, uniform with the darkness that covered the land save for a pair of ice-blue eyes. She saw him dance among men and vampires, slipping to and fro between them as they clawed at each others' throats like wolves scrabbling over meat. Then, when both man and vampire were both no more and only he remained, she saw him turn towards a sun painted red, and she would finally see the sinister curl of his lips beneath his mask.

She looked at him, this time with intense scrutiny. Where she had once seen calmness, she now saw shrewdness; Where she had once heard silence, she now thought she heard the sound of a sinister chuckle. Her eyes drifted lower, conflicted and confused. The nightbird at his waist met them, and she almost saw it spreading its wings.

"You! Vampire!" Isran's call interrupted her reverie with a tangible jolt to her senses. She looked up and around her, surprised to find ledges all around her to be empty. "Approach. I would speak with you."

She did so. Cautiously. She was all too aware of the faint jingle of her shackles as she stepped forward, and she briefly wondered at them.

_It's just your imagination, Serana. Drop it. _She berated herself. She saw him push himself out of his leaning position as she approached Isran, uncrossing his arms as if readying himself. She couldn't help but study him closer, noticing how his eyes were nailed to Isran and how they shifted with every movement the Redguard made.

_Is he trying to protect me? _She asked. Under more trusting circumstances, the answer would have been obvious, but her subconscious, made wary by the unsettling vision she had witnessed, probed her in return.

_Or is it a ruse for my benefit?_

"That's close enough." Isran said. Serana stopped and wiped uncertainty from her expression, meeting his eyes with cold indifference. He may have trusted her words, but he was still a vampire hunter at heart, and she had a special sort of ire reserved for people like him.

"I just need one thing from you." Isran said, reinforcing his words with a steely, almost rigid conviction. "Why would you betray your own kind?"

With the look in his eyes, he might as well be hammering a stake into her chest.

_Because I think more than one move ahead, and see more than the immediate gain you mortals seem to crave. _Her pride compelled her to say the words, but her cautiousness caught them at the back of her throat.

"Because I know what happens if the ritual is completed. Yes, we would no longer have to fear the sun, and we can hunt your kind whenever we wish, however we wish." Serana said, feeling a perverse sense of satisfaction cross her heart when he bristled. "But in the end, how many of us are there to prey upon all of Tamriel? How many of us will there be left, when your kind finally realises the threat we pose and band together to hunt us down? We may claim your tyrannical sun, but you will destroy us all in the end. The question, then, falls to you." She said, turning the tables.

"Will you be willing to sacrifice thousands of mortals, maybe millions, to put us down once and for all?" She asked him, not needing to read his expression to know how much the question chilled him, for it was a question she had wondered at for a long, long time.

"I see." Isran replied after a long while, meeting her eyes. The contempt was still there, she saw, perhaps even more intense than ever, but there was also something else. It was like he was looking at her in a new light, finding more than just a sworn enemy. A worth enemy, perhaps. He turned to Arcturus. "I trust you'll keep it on a short leash."

"I won't let her go too crazy. I'll make no promises beyond that." He said, shifting his weight and crossing his arms.

"Someday, that attitude will get you killed, and I'm not about to waste my manpower on babysitting you. Whether this threat is true or not, we're not ready to go toe-to-toe with this vampires. I need my men to keep looking for recruits, and to rally the jarls' support." Isran grumbled, then turned away without a word of farewell.

"Come on." Arcturus said, gesturing at the open gate behind her. They went through and Arcturus closed the gate behind them. Serana suddenly realised they hadn't even entered the fort itself.

_Insecurity or bad hospitality? _She thought. _Maybe both._

"Here," Arcturus held a key up, and her eyes widened.

"So soo-" She began, but he hushed her and set to work on her wrists. Within moments, the shackles were gone, and she rubbed at her wrists half-heartedly, finding that they hadn't chafed her skin as she thought they would.

"I promised you. Not a moment longer than necessary." He said, stuffing the metal cuffs behind his belt. He smiled at her through his mask and led her out of the canyon.

She was silent the whole way, stealing glances at her wrists. It was like she hadn't been wearing the shackles the whole time. And he had be so careful, so gentle in removing them. And when he smiled at her reassuringly, his cobalt eyes so genuine in their gleam, she felt something jump in her chest. It had been but a moment of sensation, but it made up for in intensity what it lacked in longevity. That, and the tight, wound-up feeling she felt in the pit of her stomach. It was a curious feeling, neither pleasant nor undesired, and a part of her wondered if it was a battle raging deep within her, trying to decide if the man who had led her into almost certain death and was now leading her back out was worthy of her trust.

_Gods, why is it so hard? _She asked herself.

"Arcturus," she said.

He turned round, tilting his head in silent query.

"I need to know," she said, "what your stake is in this." She needed to ask if she could trust him. Again. But then, it _was _after her little revelation. A lot could have changed.

_When you know you'd believe whatever he said._

_ Shut up._

"About all that? I know what you're thinking. Believe me, I've gone over it a few times as well." He said. His arms were at his sides, and his eyes were level with hers and bare, with no flippancy to hide behind.

"I'll say this." He said.

_When you'll believe whatever he tells you._

_ SHUT UP. _The knot in her stomach threatened to implode her, tightening with every second of holding her gaze.

But she didn't want to break it off.

"Without light," he said, "there can be no shadow."

She released the breath she didn't realise she was holding in, and Arcturus laughed.

"You should see that distant look in your eyes, Serana. It's like you haven't slept in weeks!" He said, beckoning to her. But it was with his hand now, not his eyes. All of a sudden, she felt strangely empty.

It was well into midday when they emerged from the canyon. Lynette perked up her ears at their return, combing the dirt with one hoof.

"After you," Arcturus said, holding Lynette steady for her to climb up. Even so, her steps felt strangely wobbly.

"Where are we going?" She asked when he swung himself into the saddle effortlessly, cutting Lynette's picket line and wheeling her back the way they came.

"To Riften, to meet up with some old friends." He said, tapping Lynette on her flanks. "With luck, they'll have an idea where to find your other Elder Scrolls."


	11. The Old and the New

/Hello everyone!

Thank you for coming along for the ride this far! For your information, the following chapters will be linked closely, but I'd like to space them out in 2,000-word intervals, so as to not bombard you with 5,000 words every month or so. Let me know if this arrangement appeals to you more! As always, the quality of my writing will not be compromised!

Now, enjoy!/

The ride to Riften was short and familiar, so Arcturus seemed content with a leisurely pace, letting Serana enjoy the scenery. The encounter with the Dawnguard had left her charged with a lingering energy, rendering sleep impossible, so she settled for a detached meandering with her eyes. It seemed a pleasant, blank interlude to the hubbub of activity she had been caught up in for the past few days.

_That's how long it's been? A few days? _She wondered. It felt like she had accomplished more in the past few days than she had in the past century, which was technically correct.

Her eyes drifted forward unintentionally. She felt the world come back into focus and found the sight in front of her to be a familiar one - a smooth black curtain, only broken by the occasional crease and imperceptible tear as it cascaded down his shoulders to bunch up on the saddle, shimmering with Lynette's every movement. She let her legs dangle freely from Lynette's flanks, finding it less bothersome to have empty air under her boots than before. Of course, it had been different back then, when she was still head over heels from being woken up from what seemed like an eternity of slumber, hunted down and brought on a hackle-raising flight through the wilds of Skyrim by none other than the Dragonborn of the era. Everything about it screamed novelty, and she doubted even the most talented of bards would dare to recite a tale such as this for fear of getting a faceful of stew for their effort.

But then, it certainly felt different to be the one spinning the tale in person, riding from hold to hold in search of what may be the most priceless, timeless artifacts Nirn would ever know, all while dogged by bloodthirsty assassins sent by none other than her megalomaniacal father with his gods-awful racial superiority complex. Being on the move lent purpose to the things she was caught up in, much like the signpost that had passed her by not a moment ago.

And as the mountains to her left gave way to a walled city right beside a lake, her fresh take on treks past and adventures yet to come was replaced by a constancy she did not expect. If this was the beginning of a new chapter of her life, living or dead, then she was sure there were many more chapters to come. And she was ready for them.

"We're here." She heard Arcturus say. In a pique of creativity, she skimmed through the 'words' in her head and, unsurprisedly, found his name in all the important places. He was everywhere - in the beginning, connecting the dots, popping up here and there, all the way up to the open end, being added to with every step.

She swung herself off of Lynette and cast her eyes round, taking in the nondescript stables on the side of a wide wooden gate, flanked by two guards that seemed to take an uncanny interest in their arrival. She returned their gaze ponderously until a stablehand coalesced opposite her and took Lynette's reins, tossing a brief but polite nod in her general direction. She lingered for a moment, making sure Lynette was in good hands, then caught up to Arcturus at the gates.

"There you are," he said, "it'll be nightfall soon. Wouldn't want to be alone on the road by then, even for someone like you."

One of the guards surprised her by chiming in, her strong Nordic accent drawing Serana's attention instantly. "Us night shifts get nervous."

"Never thought you would spook so easily, Dani." Arcturus said with a smirk in his voice.

"When wraiths like you prowl my city day in, day out? I'd say I'm giving quite a mild response." Dani countered, nudging one side of the gate open with her elbow.

Arcturus laughed as he brushed between her and the gate. "Fair enough. Keep safe."

"That, my friend, is entirely up to you."

Serana followed him. It was a tight fit, even for her, but her eagerness to explore the city overrode her sense of discomfort. As it stood, she soon found it well-rewarded.

The first thing that struck her was how different Riften was from Whiterun. Where the heart of Skyrim pulsed with the likes of a chaotic cocktail of colours, voices and everyday mortal life, Riften bore more kinship to a sip of cool water, pure and untainted, as if Serana could simply see through it in the slanted twilight. The city itself was nothing fanciful, consisting of winding wooden walkways raised above its watery foundations, flanked by railings and brick buildings strictly two stories high. An artificial chasm separated the city at its centre, but aside from that little distinction, the city was a veritable maze of creaking wooden planks and dull, monotonous architecture. It seemed placid to her, if not somewhat plain.

Something sweet and mellow wafted into her nostrils. It had been barely perceptible outside the gates, but now she clearly felt its presence in the very air she breathed.

"Is that... mead?" She asked. From the lake right beside it, she had assumed fishing to be Riften's specialty.

Arcturus nodded in stride. "Black-Briar Meadery, although they tend to take a very passive role in it these days. Where there's good fish-" he said, tilting sideways to flash her a gamely grin with his mask off.

"there's good water." She finished, smiling despite herself. If it weren't for this whole Dragonborn business, Arcturus might have made an excellent tour guide. She breathed in deeply again, this time noticing an undercurrent of raw fish, stale and metallic. It was not dissimilar with the contents in her flask, hidden among the saddlebags, and she had no idea if the smell appealed to the residents as it did to her.

Her footsteps unwittingly led her to the market square she had seen in the distance. Somehow, the bustle had crept up on her, and it was only when she looked up that she realised that the scenery had changed completely. The houses that had flanked the walkway seemed to have fallen away, replaced by an open courtyard on her left, and an almost obsolete patch of open ground on her right. Open, however, was not the equivalent of empty, and she found that she could barely see through the canvassed stalls and the constant ebb and flow of people between them. Some of them took notice of her and Arcturus, and from the separate walkways she saw them nod at him. At first glance, they seemed ordinary enough - a curt gesture towards a person of note in the hold. But then she caught how their heads seemed to hang lower after it, and how the lively conversations died down, one by one, until subdued murmuring was all that remained.

_They seem afraid. But of him, or me?_

"Serana." Her name, uttered tersely, wrenched her from her observations to Arcturus. "It's this way." In her mind, his sudden change in behaviour was all too easily linked with the fear she had perceived, and she devoted most of her thoughts to it as she walked.

He led her away from the square, away from the people, towards the smell of incense mixed with lavender. It caught her attention and she looked up. She was in a courtyard, inches away from a set of steps that led up a terrace flanked by golden braziers. Banners, in place of windows, were draped on either side of the doors, further setting the building apart from the others she had passed by. She sniffed, finding scent in the air coming from within, and all the pieces save for the one that mattered most fell into place. "Whose temple is this?" She asked.

Arcturus turned round, reversing his steps without breaking his stride as he gave the building a cursory glance. "Mara. The goddess of love and compassion." He added, "oh, and holy matrimony. This is the only place that couples in Skyrim can seal the deal, or so to speak."

_But you have no need of this, do you, Serana? Your deal has been struck long ago with me._

She winced as his voice sprang out at her, gritting her teeth as flashes of memory assailed her in a chaotic assault of both mental and physical agony. Her sense flickered and flared, robbing her of her reality as a tidal wave would snatch away the last piece of flotsam that kept her afloat, leaving her powerless to resist the images that would come.

_The sky was on fire. She reached out with bloodied fingers, feeling them catching alight. She was burning alive._

_ The air was frigid. She gasped for breath, to yell and scream, only to have her voice die in a vain puff of white mist. She was burning alive, and freezing to death._

_ Talons grabbed hold of her, pulled her close, consumed her in a deathly embrace of heat and cold. One hand, with nails filed to points, wrenched her face to his. They dug into her skin, drawing blood, and he brought it to his lips and licked it clean, revealing a maw of razor-sharp teeth._

_ She could not escape, she could not scream. She could only watch as his claws tore off skin and bone, while each of his savage thrusts bound her to him, claiming her as his, here at the top of his cathedral, the top of his realm._

"Serana?" His voice called to her, and she found herself standing amidst a field of lavender blossoms once again. Her breaths came quickly, but the air she inhaled was humid and scented. She looked up, and the setting sun painted her a sky of warm yellow. Even so, it took all of her focus to murmur an acknowledgement.

"Are you all right? If you see a lady in golden robes glaring at you with tears in her eyes, that's just Mara. She does that sometimes, or so I have heard." He joked, stepping closer. She could not find it in herself to smile, not yet, but she heard the genuine worry behind his words. Coming from him, it stilled her hammering heart.

_If only it still beat, my dear Serana. _He said. _You belong to me. That was our agreement._

It pained her to admit, but she had to. There was no escape, and he knew it.

_Yes, my lord. _She answered, straining to keep the sense of defeat separate from her mind's voice. She inhaled deeply, letting the scent of lavender distract her. She searched for Arcturus, listening for his voice.

"At any rate, if all you're getting's bad looks, you should count yourself lucky. The things we do under her skirts," he made a sound of mock disgust.

She forced herself to laugh, however choked it might've sounded. "Do tell."

"Oh, I can do better than telling." He said, ducking under the archways under the steps, motioning for her to follow. The stone at her feet gave way to soft grass, and Serana found herself in a small, fenced-off garden behind the temple, apparently dedicated to a small cemetery built into its side. A scattering of tombs lay half-buried in the unkempt grass, and she was just about to enquire into the sordid state they seemed to be in when she noticed the symbols. There were three of them, ingeniously hidden amongst guileless stonework and the sarcophagus they protected. She had seen its like before, and the connection was made in an instant.

A circle within a diamond.

Arcturus bent and pushed against the symbol on the sarcophagus, and she instantly felt a draft of warm, moist air brush her face.

The sarcophagus slid inwards, revealing steps that led down into darkness, where a nondescript wooden lid sat almost innocently. He went down the steps and lifted the lid, his boots squelching in the mud. It reminded her of the passages underneath Castle Volkihar, where she used to find her solace from the bitter words and threats that eventually tore her family apart.

It still felt dirty to her. She arched an eyebrow and followed Arcturus, keeping her grimace silent as her boots made contact with the mud. Beyond the rim of the lid, she saw a ladder leading to fathomless depths. Her heightened senses twitched as she heard voices coming from far below. She glanced at Arcturus, but found the smile on his face to be nothing short of enigmatic.

"Welcome to the Thieves' Guild."


	12. Of Friends Old and New

After a few short moments in complete darkness, when Arcturus moved the lid back into place with a wooden rasp, Serana found light hitting her once again.

This time, however, it felt slightly different.

This newfound light was not as prickly as pure sunlight, and yet still as warm and seemed to be shifting in its influence. It was as if a candle was held close to her, so close that the flame would tickle her skin with none of its sting, but all of its warmth. The next rung under her feet suddenly felt less important, and her descent slowed of its own accord. She breathed in, taking in a newfound musk in the air, mixed with the crisp scent of clean water and the sound of muffled conversations.

"Well, well, what have we here?" She heard the voices go silent, replaced by one that was distinctly female, albeit with a peculiar accent. She hopped down, skipping three rungs, then twisted round to meet the speaker's eyes.

If she could find them, that is.

She recognised the full-body black vestments of mixed leather and chainmail instantly, though she found them quite out of place on the slinky, almost catlike figure it was wrapped round. On Arcturus, the tight suit brought out the width of his shoulders, giving the odd but unshakable impression that he was an oversized, inverted triangle painted in black. On the Nightingale presently under her scrutiny, however, the armour was a second skin - accentuating her willowy limbs, compact profile and flowing curves. With the slight curvature of her chest, the nightbird caught the warm, dusky light of the interior, highlighting new lines and contours in its intricate design.

_Not that he didn't fill it out well, but she... well, she's more Nightingale than he is. _She thought, meeting the female Nightingale's analytical gaze fully. The Nightingale's eyes did not waver, and neither did hers flinch. A muscle in her thigh twitched, hearkening her to the dagger strapped there. Figures of men and women, brown instead of black, coalesced in the background, but she pushed them from her perception. As long as the Nightingale held her ground, she would-

"Knock it off, Karliah. You know she's a guest." Arcturus' lighthearted voice, in stark contrast with her concentration, gave her a jolt.

The Nightingale tilted her head and blinked knowingly. "Of course. I just wanted to see if she'd pounce. Merely a test." She pushed herself off the wall and approached her, her flat, black soles utterly silent on the stone. As miniscule Arcturus' footsteps were, hers won out by not being there at all. It added to her growing aura of mystery, and Serana had to consciously press down on an inexplicable, internal sense of rivalry growing in parallel with it.

_She's a Nightingale. You've seen Nightingales before. _She snapped at herself.

_ That's precisely the problem. She's a Nightingale._

_ Like him._

She tried to look back. She stopped herself.

_Why does that matter at all?_

She thought she felt her heart thump once, as if in protest.

_You know exactly why._

She took the Nightingale's gloved hand a split second before awkwardness settled in, barely registering her name and the remark that followed it over the all-consuming urge to toss a glance behind her.

"Karliah," she said, her voice mirroring her appearance, soft-spoken but mysterious. "You pass the test, Serana Volkihar."

Her eyes widened in surprise despite her best efforts, and Karliah gave a light shrug. Her mask seemed to shift in the slightest of smiles. "The shadows see much." She whispered.

_Yes, and word travels. _She thought. _Most probably into your ears._

"Welcome to our humble abode. I believe you're first vampire to set foot inside these walls." Karliah said, moving aside to allow her an unobstructed view.

At first glance, water seemed to be everywhere. She saw flickering reflections of it on the domed walls, covering the tiled ground and rushing to and from inlets on the sides as the skylight at its very centre brought down a wash of moonlight. It gave the cistern, if she could still call it that, a surrealistic shimmer, as if the ripples were dancing on the walls, flitting between light and shadow to a melody of their own. Coupled with the braziers flanking the four entrances to the cistern, one in each cardinal direction, Serana felt a wash of warm, animated light blanket her, melting away her sense of caution almost coercively. Between the pitch darkness of Dimhollow Crypt, and the glaring white of Skyrim's sun, it struck the perfect balance.

But the cistern was not all sightseeing, of course. She saw that clearly once her eyes moved from the hypotising projections on the walls to the cistern itself. From what she could see, the cistern was divided into five platforms, with four peripheral semi-circles surrounding a single, round platform in the centre, raised somewhat higher than the others.

Four stone walkways, like points on a compass connected the platforms, letting water flow freely beneath them. Each platform seemed to have a use of their own - storing meats, vegetables and other culinary ingredients on one, an ornate workstation decorated with trophies on the other; A collection of beds, blankets and personal chests lined the platform across from hers, while a larger and presumably more comfortable bed, complete with a folding screen, dominated one whole platform which Serana could only guess belonged to the Guildmaster.

Sure enough, she felt Arcturus brush past her as he made his way to that same platform, unceremoniously dumping the saddlebags next to the screen as he did. She found it easier to take her eyes off of him as her nose picked up the aroma of cooked herbs and spices wafting across the cistern, adding a musky, and to some extent cosy, scent to the atmosphere.

_I'm standing in the heart of the Thieves' Guild. _She thought.

"Feel free to look around." Karliah said. "Delvin and the others have been growling about empty stomachs for quite some time now, so I hope you don't mind their lack of hospitality."

"Not at all." Serana smiled. "It certainly smells irresistable."

"You can join us if you wish. It's always better to have a bit of variety in your diet." Karliah offered, motioning with her head at a crowded table on the leftmost platform. "They're dying to know more about his newest companion. They always are."

"He's brought others here before?"

Silence briefly reigned between them.

It was only after the words tumbled out of her mouth that she tried to reel them back in.

_Great, Serana. Just dandy._

And judging from Karliah's sideways look, as if assessing her in a new light, the cat was definitely out of the bag and gawking like a fish out of water.

She panned with her eyes as discreetly as she could, searching for something to steer the conversation away from her colossal slip.

Her saviour took the form of a woman, marble-grey in both complexion and garb and towering over the black-clad figure now at her feet. A hooded cloak, cut low at the chest and long at the sleeves, kept most of her facial features shrouded in shadow, leaving only her lips, curved in the faintest of smiles, visible. Beyond that, her form was plain, if moderately revealing, with two birds the colour of night perched upon her wrist and shoulder as her only adornments. She was surprised she hadn't spotted the oversized rendering before; it seemed to have blended into the shadow of that particular corner.

"So... that must be..." She asked, pointing to draw Karliah's attention. She followed her eyes and nodded.

"It's as close as we can get. Whether it is her true form, or a mask she dons for our sake, whatever that may be, we may never know." She answered with a hint of resignation, as if she were speaking of something she once desired, but has since given up on pursuing. "Arcturus might know more. Nocturnal often speaks to him."

She glanced at Arcturus again, this time seeing him on one knee with his head bowed, hands folded in penance and motionless save for his rhythmic breathing.

_We're not that different, are we? We both have our own monsters to face. _She asked him silently, thoughts travelling across empty air, leaving her voice for the person closer to her.

"What does Nocturnal demand of you?" She asked, more out of a desire to compare the two than anything else. _But what's done is done. Haggling over the price wouldn't change anything, would it?_

"Our souls, in servitude to her in her realm, until she deems the contract fulfilled." Karliah said. "The terms of said contract, again, are unknown to us."

"And you have no qualms with these terms?" Serana asked, incredulous. "Even if it means an eternity of servitude?"

Karliah cocked her head to one side. "I thought of it as trading an afterlife that I knew nothing about," she gestured at Nocturnal, "for one where I have a duty that I have the choice to accept." Her eyes seemed to lose focus then, and her voice became somewhat distant. "In any case, it helps to have someone to look forward to there."

Her eyes flared. She looked at Arcturus again. He was on his feet now, his business with Nocturnal apparently concluded. He waved once at them, and she saw Karliah nodding back beside her.

It was a short connection, very much blameless in every respect. But it was enough.

Her hands balled into fists. She unclenched them; they balled up again.

_Stop it, Serana. Think straight._

But she couldn't. Something new had settled on her chest, dark and crushing, and for some reason she could not look past it. She felt a myriad of sensations follow it, drowning out the voice of reason that wanted so badly to be heard. One of them drove itself against the woman before her, red-hot and fiery and consuming, but she quickly and painstakingly snuffed it out.

_Was she talking about him? Had they known each other before their induction? Had she been his companion before me? How far did they go back?_

Meaningless questions. Ones she could not get answers to. And yet the most important one, at least to her, was yet to come.

_What about me?_

"What of you?" Karliah asked.

It took Serana a moment to trace the context of her question.

"I don't plan on dying." Serana snapped, then winced, taken back by the unintended harshness embedded within. Karliah, however, seemed to pay it no mind. On the contrary, a smile seemed to crease her featureless mask. It seemed almost knowing.

"An optimist, I see."

"Hey, Karliah!" A voice too low and rough to be Arcturus' rang out, drawing both hers and Karliah's attention. It came from another man, also similarly dressed in a bodysuit of pure black, but with shoulders too wide to pass for Arcturus' more wiry frame. At any rate, his hood was brushed back and his mask was nowhere to be found, and his face carried far more gaunt than Arcturus, in addition to the head of sandy blonde hair he sported. "You're not scaring our new guest, are you? Because Rune here," he clapped a younger man on his shoulder, bringing more blush to his already ripe face, "says he might have a problem with that."

The table was engulfed by a wave of laughter, one that she caught this time. Her eyes landed on Arcturus, who had already taken his place at the head of the table. Two seats sat empty at his sides.

"Come," Karliah said. "That's Brynjolf's code for getting stuffed enough to be civil again."

Serana nodded, finding herself to be the focus of every pair of eyes on the table as she crossed the short rope bridge linking the platforms together. She felt strangely off-balance, even though there was no fall underneath the knotted wood other than into ankle-high water. Her steps slowed as thirteen pairs of eyes came to rest upon her, and she suddenly felt like a child caught halfway through her sweetroll. It was one of the few memories of childhood she could recall, and had a tendency of waylaying her at the worst moments.

_What do they see when they look at me? _She thought, painfully conscious of her glowing eyes, pale skin and outlandish clothing. Her chair was less than five steps away from where she stood, but for some reason she could not find it within herself to brush past five, maybe six, people to get to it.

She blinked, closing her eyes.

Then, of course, the other crippling... asset in her possession demonstrated _its _tendency to waylay her.

She blinked, opening her eyes, and at once she felt the thrum of energy radiating from the table, of which it was the centre, yet not the source.

_My daughter, _he crooned in her head, weaving the same melody he once had when her first feeding was upon her. _How long has it been since you... wet your tongue?_

_ No. Not now. _She felt them twitch, fidget in their sheaths, longing to be sunk through flesh and into vein. It became harder to resist with each passing second. She felt their life forces, and so could they; They yearned for blood, and, slowly but surely, so did she.

She was just about to let them slide from their confines when someone spoke up, tearing her from her inner conflicts almost violentlys. Her eyes zeroed in on him quickly.

A bit too quickly, perhaps.

He was a bald man, Breton by the looks of him, who had swung himself round so his head rested on the back of his creaking wooden chair, his mouth lopsided in a sly, but friendly grin. She was not sure if it was his distinct Breton accent or the almost comical expression on his round face that drew her attention, but it snatched her from her own musings nonetheless.

"So... What's your name, beau'iful?" He asked, his deep, accented voice lending him a natural savvy. She delved into a deeper sphere of her vision, thoroughly assessing him. Strangely enough, she detected no anxiety from him, nor did she hear any sort of false sincerity behind his words. The other twelve pairs of eyes gleamed in her peripheral vision, and instead of the suspicion and fear she had anticipated, she saw them flicker in amusement, just like the Breton's.

_They're not afraid of me._

She was unsure if she should be worried or overjoyed. But then the dilemma fled from her mind as she realised that the bald man's question had been left unanswered. By her.

"Serana." She answered with only a slight trace of stammer. Her cheeks lit up with invisible heat, and she felt her fangs retreat hesitantly.

Embarrassment, it seemed, could actually be a lifesaver.

"Well, I'd offer you a seat, but it seems the boss has it all figured out." He said, extending a hand. No gloves covered it. She took it, the coarse feel of his bare skin residually electrifying. "Call me Delvin. Now move on over, we're all very curious."

Serana felt her boots free up, and she crossed the paths of one, two, then three living, breathing humans. She barely took their polite nods and smiles in stride as she passed them by and she was breathless by the time she reached the chair.

"You look a bit flustered." Arcturus said as she smoothened out her robes. "This should help." He produced a glass flask, filled to the narrow neck with red liquid and set it down in front of her. It was foamy at the surface, and Serana briefly wondered if all the jostling it took in the saddlebags had compromised it in any way. She looked at him, at his gesture of goodwill, and suddenly she was unsure of his intentions. Was he sending her signals, being friendly, or just simply courteous?

It can't be all three, because she wanted only one.

_Why do you torment yourself so, child? Why, when there sits a meal far more fulfilling, far more satisfying, than what-_

"Art!" A voice came from across the table, strong but feminine. It came from a Redguard woman who was fuming just about as much as her flask of blood.

_Not right now. _She devoted a small portion of her concentration to plugging her intangible ears. It was a small price to pay for a decent meal.

"Yes, Tonilia?" He sighed.

"I thought we agreed that that _thing _was not to appear at my table?" Tonilia demanded, and for a moment Serana thought she had meant _her_.

"Now who's going to finish this?" Tonilia asked, lifting the lid on a dish that had remained, in stark contrast to every other plate on the table, untouched. A sizable, steaming and proportionally cut up square of dark crimson rested amidst a flurry of greens, the heat of it giving off a sheen of steam that seemed almost theatrical. Its scent carried across quickly, and Serana's eyes widened at the aroma while everyone else groaned. She tried and failed to control her excitement.

"Are those... blood cakes?" She asked incredulously. It was certainly animal blood. Cow, perhaps. But that made little difference to her. Blood was blood.

_Seasoned _blood, however, was something else entirely.

Without another word, Tonilia took a knife, slid it under one portion of the crimson square, and came away with a rectangle of quivering, dark red substance. The Redguard woman laid it most gently on its side, and passed the plate down the line of men and women spanning the length of the table. Her eyes were already alight with anticipation.

As the plate made its way across, Delvin crossed his arms and looked at her and Arcturus. Or, if her assumptions were correct, at their proximity. She felt somewhat odd, being the centre of attention. It _has _been quite a while.

"So, boss... A vampire, eh? Talk about strange bedfellows," he said, trying but failing to contain a hearty laugh, "literally!"

Serana felt her face go from flushed to ripe in an instant. She thanked the Divines no one could actually see it. The table, however, remained ominously silent. She sensed something at work in the background, decided to let events unfold and settled on enjoying her slice of blood cake.

"Is that an undercurrent of jealousy I hear, Delvin?" One of the women, a pale-skinned Nord with her long brown hair brushed back, countered. "You've been trying to get into Vex's pants for so long, I think the desperation's getting to you." She gestured at another Nord woman across the table from her, who was distinctly built wider and tougher than her and sported a tumble of snow-white hair around her shoulders.

It was only then that the table exploded into a chaotic mixture of laughter, with the entire table, in silent consent, withholding their mirth until the punch line hit. It caught her completely by surprise, and almost choked a sliver of blood cake from her.

Amidst the chorus of laughter, with him being the butt of it, Delvin sat quiet. It was only after all of it died down when he felt comfortable to speak.

"Aye, it's true, I may have doted upon our little Vex's hand more than any of you have ever bothered to." He said with an air of sad conviction.

"Just her hand?" A hooded Breton man not two seats away from Serana hollered. She herself fought to hold down the chunks of blood she had just swallowed. One laugh, and it would all have been for nothing.

"But alas, shattered, my heart was, when I learned that she was with another man. A man who, in my position, I could never contest." Delvin continued, unfazed.

"But then," he said, his tone completely reversing, "not a month ago, my dearest Guildmaster stood up for me and shanked the topless bastard. And now..."

He held out a hand, coarse, rough and quite possibly unwashed, to the white-haired and annoyingly flustered Vex. "I can try again."

This time, mixed in with the howling, borderline convulsive laughter, Serana could hear cheering. She could hear it, because it was so different from what she was doing, and that in itself amazed her.

She could hear it because she was laughing with them.


	13. Prodigal

Arcturus hooked his arms in a cradle around Serana - one under the nape of her neck to keep her head from lolling about, and another under her knees so her legs dangled. He kept his pace slow, so the liquor-induced lethargy would keep her under despite his movements as he carried her to the bed they had made for her.

They who, after realising vampires _do _get drunk, quickly scampered away like skeevers from a flame, leaving him, the second person to excuse himself from the drunken revelry to clean up the mess, dump all the dishes into a washbasin beside the water, and carry the thoroughly intoxicated vampire to her bed.

_Like a couple to their wedding be- _He cut himself off, smothering the thought with summoned frustration. After almost a dozen times of it surfacing in his many and at-times unwanted thoughts, he was almost getting good at dismissing it.

Serana murmured unintelligibly, rolling over in his arms and seemingly snuggling into him. He sighed, quietly so he wouldn't wake her; Try as he might, it always found a way to go back to where it was before, as if it had a right to be there.

The sight of her there, tranquil and asleep in his arms, certainly did him no favours in that regard. He just couldn't resist looking at her, turning and returning with her every movement.

Under the pale moonlight, with her short-cropped braids shading her pale, bloodless face and her inhuman orange eyes closed, she looked almost human.

His right boot, lulled into a slow stroll, struck wood mid-stride, and he found himself standing at the bedpost. He looked up and around. He had indeed arrived at the unoccupied bed on the platform right next to his, as he intended. It did not take him as long as he had thought.

_Thought, or _hoped_? _The thought rose unbidden, unchallenged due to its slight difference.

Gods, it was like playing Whack the Skeever - where one retreated, another takes its place somewhere else. It was easily maddening.

He stooped and laid Serana down on the sheets, careful not to wake her. It was only then that he noticed how tattered her clothes had become after a millennia of disrepair. Scabs and tears dotted the aged leather cuirass and armguards, and the bodice beneath, originally a deep crimson, had long since faded into a shallow hue of red.

Cogs in his head began to turn, and he found himself rooted to the spot, mixing and matching articles of clothing mentally. His eyes constantly drifted across her form, but he was far too occupied to allow indecency any room. An odd sort of excitement came over him as the pieces fell into place one by one, until he could almost impose the new outfit on her with sheer force of will.

Serana mumbled and turned into the pillow. He blinked, then cleared his throat discreetly and stepped away from her on his tiptoes

_Had enough for one night? _His mind teased him with a cascade of images, some of them real, others imaginary, and all of them titillating enough to make him squirm.

He fought the urge to groan, and was just about to leave the platform when he noticed another woman sitting at the edge. Her body faced the water, but her eyes, purple and consumed with enigmatic emotion, were on him.

_Karliah._

The moonlight that illuminated the cistern lit her from the side, landing upon skin that straddled the line between dark blue and violet. It ran down her slanted features, highlighting a pointed nose, thin lips and sculpting a chin sharp enough to draw blood. It was reflective, he recalled, of the rest of her - graceful, sharp and possessed of a beauty that needed no embellishment. It captivated him before, and it had no difficulty in doing so again.

_Careful, Arcturus. _A voice said in his head. Her voice. It was a welcome distraction. _To steal from a thief is most unwise._

_ If he's there, milady, tell him he has nothing to fear. _He answered, summoning a mental image of the person in question, whom he had met at the entrance to the Twilight Sepulcher. It had been a meeting at swordpoint, and however ethereal it had been, it got the message across.

He seated himself next to her, and brushed aside the slight tingle on his skin where she was closest to him.

Once, when he hadn't known better, he had relished in the feeling, mistaking it for intimacy in the rare moments they shared.

Then, when he tried for her heart and found it tied to another, he had come to hate it, realising that it had been nothing more than his own wishful thinking all along.

Now, as Karliah's tousled brunette hair, lilac skin and imperceptible violet eyes relinquished their hold on him, he found himself finally, fully letting go, as if releasing a pent-up breath. The tingles, it seemed, escaped with it as well.

He had thought it would be more difficult than that.

"Shadows keep you, brother." She said. There was something tentative in her voice, scarcely intelligible, as if she were apologising for something she felt partly responsible for. It triggered a resonant pang of guilt within him.

"And you," he replied, trying to come up with something savvier than 'I've gotten over ogling you in your sleep, because I know you were watching' without making a fool of himself, "_sister_."

She smiled, her eyes misting with silent gratitude. "And here I was the night before last, at this exact same spot, wondering if you would return."

"It was not one of the best detours I have taken in my life," he shrugged, "but at least I came back, albeit neck-deep in a heap of trouble."

"I can tell. Pureblooded vampires are hard to come by these days, but one with an Elder Scroll strapped to its back..." Karliah kicked at the water, the ripples dancing on her features. "I find neck-deep disturbingly accurate."

"_She_," Arcturus said, giving her a pointed look, "happened to be privy to her father's nefarious scheme to blot out the sun. And _she_, not in representation of her kin, does not wish to see that happen."

"Ah, so she's a good vampire, then." Karliah commented, smirking.

Serana, only a few feet away from them, groaned into her pillow. For a moment, Arcturus thought she would wake and question Karliah on her fixation on vampires' morality, but she simply buried her face into the fabric, smothering herself in the bag of feathers.

"It would seem that way, yes." He said, his gaze torn between her and Karliah. _Can vampires even suffocate?_

His eyes returned to the front, only to come under the intense scrutiny of wide purple eyes close enough to give him a jump. They were alight with a forbidden gleam, as if they had seen things out of their place.

"You seem distracted, Arcturus." Karliah said with a lilt in her voice he recognised. "Is something wrong?"

"Look at her! I'm not familiar with how a vampire's anatomy works, but do they not suffocate like we do?" He whispered urgently.

"Perhaps you should go to her then, tell her that a bed is built differently than a coffin." Karliah said. "It would only be line with the hospitality you've already shown her."

Blood rushed to his cheeks. He knew that it was all the proof Karliah needed, but it was that or slitting his throat to stem the flow. The thought itself was contradictory, but it persisted in his mind for a moment longer than necessary before he pushed it away, forming an impenetrable suit of armour around his thoughts. It had protected him from the wild and uncontrollable emotions before, when they threatened to upset his self-control. He prayed to the Divines that it would save him now.

"It was mere courtesy. Nothing more." He said, trying on his most dismissive tone. But Karliah would have none of it.

"So it had nothing to do with your eyes nailing her to the wall when she laughed?"

_The giggle she let slip when he let her go first, right beside a burning pile of her fellow vampires as her fingers skimmed his arm. She could not tell, for she had already turned away, but the single, fleeting touch electrified him._

He turned his eyes back, against his will, at her. His mind fought it, but could not stop it, just as it could not stop his heart from beating.

She was still sound asleep.

"The quick, concealed glare at our roguish Rune when he made a pass at her at the table, even though I was the only one who caught it?"

_The shaky smile she favoured him with after they exchanged secrets they had never dared reveal, as her eyes of molten gold seemed to reach inside and set him alight with forbidden desire. He had distanced himself with detached jest, but the damage was already done._

They were slipping through the cracks now, bits and pieces of her that he had seen, felt or heard in the space of three short days, reducing his armour to little more than rusted links and dented plates. Without it, he felt naked.

He blinked, lowering his eyes, thinking this to be the product of the vampires' fabled charm. But he could hear her breathe, close but still too far away.

This was no trick.

"Arcturus..." Karliah began, all traces of humour gone, but was cut short by a jab of his hand, quickly transformed into a clenched fist as confusion gave way to frustration. He had taken lovers before, more than he deigned to keep count of, and with every single one of them, every single time, he had thought that he would want for nothing more. But in the end, it was he himself that would prove him wrong, for he was the mockingbird that flitted from one branch to the next, as if the world and all that was in it were naught but passing fancies.

"Karliah, I have seen where this road leads... Do not point me to it again." He said, grinding out each word. She, with her mesmerising violet eyes and inhuman beauty, had been the only one he had met who could pluck his heartstrings so. And now, with the sight of her twinkling eyes of molten gold and her lighthearted giggle so uncharacteristically branded into his mind, he saw himself as the mockingbird again - flying from a heart he had mistook for being empty, to another that has not beaten for years beyond count.

Only this time, when he landed, he did not want to take off again. But would his heart allow him that?

"Arcturus, that is unfair." Karliah said. Her hand, slender and bare, touched his shoulder. He looked at her and saw compassion mixed in the watery reflections of her eyes. He could not tell if they were tears.

"Only a week has passed, Karliah," he said. "Only a week since I realised I could not win your heart from Gallus. I ran, thinking that I would never come back, but here I am again, my defense mechanism stronger than ever." His eyes wandered the cistern, taking in everything except the woman in the background, whose breathing had smoothened out some time ago.

"It is only a mechanism if you want it to be, Arcturus. You didn't see the look in her eyes when you left the table after me." Karliah said, leaning into him as if she was getting at the real him underneath. "Even if you should fly away, I don't think she will let you."

_The smile she had tried to hide as you fastened the rusty iron shackles on her._

_ You remember it, Arcturus. You're just too much of a coward to face it._

He had no words for it, so he stayed silent for a long while, until Karliah cupped his chin with cool fingers and turned him towards her. A shaky smile, not unlike the one in his head, curled her dark lips, and her eyes were awash with a compassion reserved for the truest of friends.

"Arcturus," she began, her exotic accent beckoning attention, "you cannot have my heart. My heart is taken by another. But now you hold another in the palm of your hands, one that has lain dead for a thousand years." She reached for his hands, folding them together, then gave a gentle squeeze. After that, she said nothing more, and instead waited patiently for him.

He looked back at Serana. Karliah followed his eyes, but he paid her no heed. He watched Serana as she once again turned in her sleep, the alcohol in her system fueling an especially vivid dream. Her legs thrashed about on the sheets, kicking the blankets at the end of the bed into a convoluted ball of fabric.

He grunted and stood, leaving Karliah by the water as he approached Serana's bedside. He picked up the blanket by two corners, smoothened out its creases, and lowered it onto her prone form as gentle as the fall of a feather. She did not seem to notice, and the peaceful expression written on her tousled features stirred something within him.

He returned to Karliah, letting the water lap at his heels this time. He could feel his apprehension as he could the water, lapping at him, testing itself against his walls and trying to break through his new suit of armour.

"Let things play out how they want. That is all I can promise." He said. He had not thought to make this decision so soon, however ambiguous it may be. But he felt something akin to a boulder being lifted off his chest as he did, and it felt good enough for him to give Karliah a weak, appreciative smile.

She smiled back. "That is all I ask of you."

They sat there, legs dangling in the water, for a long while - he to reassemble his thoughts, and she to keep him company. Then he remembered why he had sat down with her in the first place - between Serana nearly biting Rune on a dare, and she herself collapsing after her fourth tankard of mead, he had not really had the time to present the questions he had come with.

"I have not heard of any direct references to the Elder Scrolls you seek. It is rare that even one can be found, let alone a set of interconnected Scrolls." Karliah murmured after hearing his query. "I have heard, however, of a mad hermit's expertise on the matter. His name is Septimus Signus, and he was last seen at his outpost in the Northern ice sheets."

"Mad hermit. Sounds promising." Arcturus said.

"Then I suppose you will be leaving soon?" Karliah asked.

"Perhaps at the next nightfall, yes." He made to rise, but fixed on Karliah one last gaze. It was a gaze of silent gratitude, and of an adoration he thought he would never come to possess. "I will take your words to heart as I ride, sister."

He left her there, by the water as he crossed the wooden footbridge to his platform. As he reached his bedside, his mind became abuzz once more with the outfit he had pictured from before. Tossing a glance at Serana, who was now on her side, he drew his windscreen around his bed for that extra bit of privacy.

As it closed around him, however, he thought he saw the gleam of gold peeking at him through gaps in the wood.


	14. Interlude - Queenbreaking

Jarl Elisif suppressed a deep sigh as the merchant, with her disdainful yellow eyes and haughty tone even as she bowed low, turned away and disappeared down the curved stairs with her armful of silks and velvet. With Taarie's departure, or at least that's what she thought the Radiant Raiment owner's name was, went the last of the audiences she had to grant for the day, and every last bit of her sang at the prospect of retiring to her chambers.

"Were her wares not to your liking, milady?" Her steward, Falk Firebeard, asked. For a man with such a fiery name, he was surprisingly soft-spoken and thoughtful, and had characteristically picked up on her disappointment.

"I'd say it was her attitude that wasn't to milady's liking, Firebeard. The finest embroidery pales to the defiant gleam in that elf's eyes." Her housecarl, Bolgeir Bearclaw, crossed his arms. The metal plates that covered him like a second skin tinkled against one another as he fixed his steely eyes downwards and forwards, as if his glaring would burn a hole through the palace walls and the airy High Elf's spine.

"No, Falk. It was a fine presentation that you have arranged." Elisif said, smiling. "It just wasn't at the opportune time." The day's events have proven to be far too tedious for her to appreciate just about anything other than the privacy of her bedchambers.

_Things have changed so much, and in such a rush. _She thought, remembering the times when she was the one who lingered in the royal bedroom, awaiting his return from the worries and troubles of the kingdom under his rule.

She had been the one to go to him, lifting the crown from his head and listening quietly as he told her of affairs big and small.

She had been the one to rub the tension from his shoulders, running her fingers through his hair until the cares of the world ceased to flow from his mouth, and all that remained was him and her.

_Torygg._

His face surfaced in her thoughts, pushing past news of the war, of unrest among the people and of dragons nestled atop brewing stormclouds. She rubbed her temples, hoping that he would never fade away. He would know what to do. He always did.

_Why did you have to go?_

She remembered the flurry of panicked activity when her chambermaid had dragged her by the arm to the throne room, where the world was first torn in half.

_His eyes had caught her in an instant, and the gleam of Nord pride was overcome by a wash of compassion. He exchanged a terse look with the man at the other end of the room, who held a naked blade in hand and defiance in his eyes._

_ Ulfric Stormcloak glanced at her and nodded his assent._

_ She broke through the throng of guards and grabbed him by his shoulders, her eyes reserved only for the love in his eyes and her ears privy to his whispered solace. She searched for the determination in him, the one thing she knew he needed to quell this foolish rebellion._

_ And she found nothing._

_ She found nothing even as he pulled away, leaving only three little words adrift in his wake, an empty promise he could no longer fulfill. Then the only sound she heard was the scrape of Naegling leaving its sheath, and the taut silence of a kingdom in watching._

_ The blast threw her tressed hair into disarray and deafened her ears, but she did not care. The onlookers, nobles and commonfolk mixed in, yelled in triumph and indignation both, but she paid them no heed._

_ All she saw was her husband, his body bloodied and broken as Ulfric Stormcloak stood in his place._

_ All she heard was her own screams, of both wrenching anguish and helpless rage, echoing in her ears where no one could hear them. No one but her._

_ All she felt were the arms of the palace guards holding her back, holding her from coming to his rescue as Ulfric Stormcloak unceremoniously plunged his blade through both his heart and hers._

_ Since then, she has known nothing but pain._

Elisif blinked, gritting her teeth and fighting back tears as her advisors conversed among themselves. Torygg's death brought a knife against her heart. For a time, she let it consume her, wondering how the gods could be so cruel as to visit tragedy after tragedy upon her. But she survived.

And the scars that heal grow into tougher skin.

Elisif regained her composure and contained her weariness. Torygg's face faded from her mind. She was better than this. She was Jarl Elisif the Fair, the High Queen of Skyrim, and she had not the time for grief.

"Milady? What troubles you?" Falk had sensed her roiling emotions once again. Her heart livened to his sensitivity, finding solace in it.

"Nothing a good evening's rest won't cure." She answered. "I trust that we are done for the day?"

"I cry your pardon, milady, but there is one matter that remains unresolved." A woman's voice rose from behind her, subtle and measured. She twisted to meet her court wizard, Sybille Stentor's gaze. As Elisif had expected, Sybille's eyes gleamed golden, seemingly with a wisdom gained from decades of experience despite her relatively youthful Breton features. When she had first arrived in Solitude, the Breton sorceress had been the focus of her curiosity, but after a while her enigmas simply proved to be too much.

"Ah yes, the guests from Solstheim. I take it they are still waiting in the guestrooms?" Elisif asked. They had arrived the night before, but were curiously content to wait until she has dealt with the tumultuous affairs of managing a war-torn province before receiving their audience. If nothing else, their patience alone have already impressed her.

"They are, milady." Sybille answered.

"Then send for them. I have kept them waiting for far too long." Elisif said. The guard at the top of the stairs pressed a fist to his chest, bowed, turned, and proceeded to the back rooms of the palace to escort the guests.

Inhaling deeply, she readied herself by tucking back stray strands of her fiery red hair and smoothing out wrinkles in her robes, reminding herself the importance of appearances, until he returned with three other sets of footsteps.

A Nord came first behind the guard, his height putting him at equal stature with the guard even a step behind. His hair was a rare solid brown, brushed neatly back at the forehead and unblemished despite his mature appearance. His face was free of lines or wrinkles, with only a circular beard, meticulously trimmed, highlighting his narrowed cheeks, It lent him a certain severity that contradicted the slight tug at the edges of his unnaturally pale lips, which oozed an easy confidence that was almost infectious. Coupled with the fine condition his splinted armour seemed to be in and the well-spun red tunic underneath, Elisif summed him up as someone who took great care in maintaining his appearance, and knew the importance it held and the charisma it exuded.

And his eyes.

She took note of them as their eyes met, feeling a familiar curiosity draw her in as it had all those years ago. Though their owner was someone else entirely, their golden gleam had the same effect on her.

She felt her eyes unwittingly lingering on him even as the others in his entourage took their places, their outfits seemingly carved from the same cloth as his. They were three in total, the Nord taking the lead, a hooded Breton woman with a necklace made out of bone on his left, and a giant of a Redguard with a warhammer rivalling his height and weight on his right. She blinked and narrowed her eyes slightly, forcing herself to focus and not become lost in the Nord's inexplicable and exclusive charm.

The Nord approached her with steady strides, stopping at the steps to the throne. He went down on one knee and bowed his head.

"Jarl Elisif the Fair," he said, eyes still downcast, and she stiffened. "I have heard tales of your beauty, though it would appear that they do you no justice."

_That voice... It sounds familiar._

"You flatter me, my lord..." She forced herself to rise to her feet, holding out her hand in invitation. He took it and stood, his height putting his eyes level with hers. Without breaking eye contact, he turned her hand over and planted a kiss on her knuckles, then backed away. It was the traditional Cyrodiilic greeting, almost obsolete in this part of Tamriel, and it brought heat to her cheeks. But despite the blush, the patch of skin his lips touched was cold and slightly numb

"Lord Harkon, if it please my lady." He said, noticing her confusion. She stiffened again, feeling the pieces fall together against her will. "I believe our paths have crossed some time in the past, though I cannot remember when." A hand rose and cupped his mouth, as if in thought.

Her mind clicked into gear and combed her memory for his face, picturing a younger version of him to compensate for the time that had gone by.

And she found him, a mental image surfacing amongst a sea of faces. At the time it had been burned into her mind, as she did with all those of import she met, she was but a little girl, struggling to find her stride and her breath in her first corset.

She quickly compared it with the man in front of her, reality and memory side-by-side for the briefest of moments, and the resemblance was astoundingly uncanny. He looked exactly as she remembered him to be, untouched by the blemishes of time.

"It was at one of my father's private gatherings, Lord Harkon," she answered. It had been a gathering reserved for persons in the highest of positions - kings, lords... and shipping magnates responsible for the logistics of the Empire's island-sized ebony mine. "Where you were lauded for your efforts in raising Solstheim from a barren, decrepit mine to the mainstay of the Empire's supply of ebony ore."

Harkon inclined his head in a show of humility. "It was not I who raised Solstheim from the land of the dead, but the people of Solstheim themselves. I just did all the legwork."

"Walking on water is no small feat."

"Neither is holding a province that is tearing apart at the seams together any idle achievement." Harkon insisted, golden eyes cast in an approving light. She saw something else flicker behind it, and she put on a polite smile just in time to mask her suspicion.

"My countrymen are devout, but not foolish. I have every confidence that the violence will soon end." She said.

"It should not have come to pass in the first place, my lady. This war has already done far too much harm." His eyes softened as he looked at her imploringly. "I am sorry, Elisif."

She seized up at the sound of her name. No one had dared address her directly, much less at court. But instead of the anger she had expected from such a transgression, however minor it may be, she felt only the compassion hidden behind so simple a word, drawing her closer to this man she barely knew. Somewhere inside her, a small voice preached caution, beseeching her to throw up her walls and keep his honeyed words from slithering in. She had dealt with sycophants before, but none as direct as the golden-eyed Nord before her. She half-expected her Falk to snap at the breach in courtesy, but he curiously remained silent.

"Thank you, Lord Harkon. Your condolences are most welcome, but I am sure you did not take ship from Solstheim to offer sympathies." She said, cutting straight to business. She didn't trust herself to hold up against any more of his pleasantries.

"You are as beautiful as you are wise, my queen. Indeed, I have come to lend you my aid," Harkon announced, inclining his head briefly, "such as it is."

She frowned at that. As unfamiliar as she was with his whereabouts for the past decade, she remembered him distinctly as a businessman, a trader with a fleet larger than most. What use could he be in a battle on solid ground, or ice as thick as mountains?

"Skyrim thanks you for your offer of support in these troubling times, but I have every confidence that our troops, and those of the Thalmor, are more than enough to keep the rebellion in check." She said, careful in her choice of words.

_Where were you when Ulfric Stormcloak stood on the exact tile of marble you are standing on right now? _Something inside her spat bitterly.

Harkon smiled, revealing a row of neat, bone-white teeth as he did, and she was taken aback. It was as if she had spoken her mind. Speaking her mind was dangerous.

"Please, Elisif. The Thalmor? They care nothing about the joys and woes of this kingdom. Do not forget, this whole rebellion, set aflame by the ban on Talos worship, was their doing. But do they care if Skyrim bleeds out slowly, painfully over it? No! They are content with splitting the province in half, taking their precious time in rooting out every single Talos worshipper in every city, town and village they come across, while my people slaughter each other." He said, stepping forward once, then twice, until the proximity of his blazing golden eyes threatened to set her alight with his fervor. He was close, almost uncomfortably so, but Elisif refused to flinch. She was Elisif the Fair, the High Queen of Skyrim, and she was a hard woman to break.

"Lord Harkon, you speak out of turn. It is not your place to advise our generals on how to fight this war." She said tersely.

"Look around, Elisif. Where are your generals?" He asked, then pointed at the window, where the shadow of Castle Dour loomed. "Oh, that's right, they're too busy figuring out how to fight this war without you! And while they sip on their wine and gesticulate at their maps, _your _people die. _Your _people, Elisif, not the Thalmor's, nor your generals'."

She felt his words hit home, stirring up an anger that had, for too long, been buried by grief. The truth was, she had inherited nothing from Torygg. Outside the province, Skyrim had to follow the Thalmor's rules, as it had ever since the signing of the White-Gold Concordat. Inside, her Jarls were divided, each fending for themselves while her armies marched under the banner of General Tullius and the Thalmor expedition. She was Elisif the Fair, the High Queen of Skyrim, and she sat an empty throne.

She felt herself giving in. Harkon was right. The Thalmor _were _dragging their feet, her kingdom's armies _were _out of her control, and Skyrim, with every second of its division, _was _dying. And worst of all, the people have stopped looking to her to set the world to rights. She was stuck in this palace, lending her ears to petty rivalries between nobles and her eyes to silks and velvet brought by a woman whose eyes burned with a disrespect she finally came to understand

"My lady." Harkon said. He was only inches away from her, his foot only steps away from the throne. She expected to see Bolgeir's bulky frame to appear at her side with a hand on his steel sword, coming to save her from this madness that seemed so right, but he never came. She was Elisif the Fair, the High Queen of Skyrim, and she was alone. She had hit rock bottom trying to deceive herself that all was not lost, and he was showing her the light, throwing down a rope that she, with her shackled wrists, could still grab.

"Do you wish this war to end?" He asked. She, with a voice trembling with rage, had no other answer.

"Yes."

"Do you wish your people to be safe, protected and free from those who do not understand their way of life?"

Deep down, she knew it was impossible. Skyrim was a part of the Empire, and that Empire had made peace with the Aldmeri Dominion at great, but necessary, cost. She had witnessed the statues of Talos torn down, and the pain etched on every Nord face in the gathered crowds. She knew it was impossible, but it was what she had always wished for.

"Yes."

"Then you have need of us, my queen." Harkon said, and his golden eyes burned with renewed zeal. It was almost inhuman.

"Who are you?" She asked, knowing that it mattered little. Her resolve returned, but this time it was not to put up resistance. It was to forge alliances. She was Elisif the Fair, the High Queen of Skyrim, and the bleeding stops now.

"Who we are matters little, for we come from many different places. But we are fast, we are strong, and we take neither pleasure in slaughtering our countrymen nor stake in religious witch hunts. We are your instruments in reuniting Skyrim, for Skyrim is the place where the world will be forever changed."

There was something cryptic behind his last words, but she dismissed it as mere flattery. She had matters far more pressing at the forefront of her mind.

"And how am I to explain to General Tullius that a band of rogue warriors are loose within the realm, fighting his war?"

"Elisif, Elisif..." He shook his head, lips curling in a devious, infectious smile. She thought she saw the glimmer of something sharp between his perfect rows of teeth. "How can you forget? You needn't explain anything, to anyone. Who are they to say yea or nay to you, when you're acting for the good of Skyrim?" He put himself right in front of her, so there would be no escaping fire in his eyes. "You are Elisif the Fair, the High Queen of Skyrim, and you answer to _no one_."

Something within her clicked at the words, striking a chord that resonated with the very fibre of her being. It hit all the right notes, validating everything she believed in and justifying everything she thought needed to be done. It was simply impossible to refuse.

"You're right." She nodded. "I am queen."

Harkon smiled. "There's the Elisif I know. When you were little, you insisted on lacing the corset all the way up, frightening away the maids who tried to loosen it for you with the intense determination that you alone possessed. That is what we need right now."

She flashed a quick smile, but kept her senses on high alert. The deal might have been struck, but the terms were still on the table. She still didn't know what Harkon wanted.

"There must be something you want. Gold? One of the nine holds?" She asked. Harkon chuckled, noticing the guarded edge of her words. He backed away.

"I do not want for gold, my queen, and nor do I or my brothers and sisters desire the rule of a hold." He said, pausing briefly. "What we want is your trust. The Stormcloaks are scattered across the eastern expanse of Skyrim, exerting their influence from various keeps in the region. It would be very difficult for us to send back runners to keep you informed of the situation."

Elisif frowned. She was treading on thin ice, or namely Harkon's word that the men and women under his command could defeat the Stormcloaks quickly, efficiently and without harming innocents. Beyond that, she had nothing. "What of the Imperial army? Surely they will follow your forces as they storm the keeps. You may find messengers within their ranks who are willing to relay news back to Solitude."

"Indeed. If nothing else, your own men should prove trustworthy enough." Harkon said. "We will be free of this pointless rebellion soon."

"With my people unharmed."

"With your people unharmed." He nodded his assent.

"Then I name you, and those under your command, my vassals. You shall move across the land unchallenged by all authority other than mine; You shall be under my protection when you make war with those who threaten the safety and security of the province, and you shall go forth with my blessing." She summoned her lordliest voice, something she had not made use of in a long while, as she passed her eyes over the Nord, Breton and Redguard before her. As one, they bowed their heads.

"Yes, my queen." They replied in unison.

Suddenly, she felt as if a great burden had been lifted from her, leaving her as light as a feather. Nervous energy, pent-up and withheld, flowed from her as the words faded into the empty hall of the throne room. As her eyelids drooped, she cast her eyes round, wondering what her advisors, curiously silent throughout the entire ordeal, made of her decision.

But there was no one. No guards, no Thanes sitting behind her in shadow, no golden-eyed court wizard holding her sceptre, and no housecarl and steward defending her from those who would do her, and her kingdom, harm.

There were only the three of them - Nord, Breton and Redguard, one and all gleaming with eyes of molten gold. Their smiles were the last things she saw before her eyes closed. She saw fangs.

"Milady?" A voice roused her from her slouched position on the throne, yanking her from the stupor that had blanketed her. It was rough and gravelly, distinctly lacking the smoothness of Harkon's voice. Beside her, Bolgeir and Falk kept watchful eyes on her. Only the slightest hints of worry showed in their eyes. She turned round, glancing at Thane Bryling and Erikur as they passed her field of vision. Sybille Stentor, with her eyes of molten gold, stood behind her, sceptre in hand. She was smiling, but there were no fangs.

"The guests..." She said, rubbing her temples, "where are they?"

The guard that was supposed to fetch them pressed a fist to his chest. "Milady, they left the palace some time before you summoned them. Something about inspecting business interests in Whiterun."

_Left? _Elisif thought. Then it hit her.

_Whiterun._

_ The first city to the east._

Her mind reeling, Jarl Elisif the Fair, the High Queen of Skyrim, gave the faithful guard her gratitude, all the while wondering.

_What have I unleashed upon my kingdom?_


	15. Monster in Me

/I suck at describing clothing./

Serana kept her eyes closed.

She had kept her eyes closed when he scooped her from her seat, his arms a makeshift cradle she could not help sinking into as he carried her to gods knew where. Her mind buzzed, pleasantly blank, as the combined efforts of the liquor in her system and the strength in Arcturus' arms rendered her weightless, floating on clouds of comfort and safety.

She had kept her eyes closed when warmth cocooned her, mumbling contently as she turned her head into something soft and feathery. The buzz got the better of her, and the world faded to little more than cool air tickling her neck and the telltale sound of tiny waves breaking on stone. Voices, subdued and hushed, drifted across the cistern and reached her last functioning faculty of perception.

_You had to listen. You just had to listen._

Serana kept her eyes closed.

She had kept her eyes closed as her mind jolted to wakefulness bit by bit, with each word she made out. She heard him speak, voice stretched high and thin, as if being pulled apart by forces that cannot be seen, only felt.

_Me._

_ They were talking about me._

She had kept her eyes closed when he came to her, standing not an inch from her bed. She felt the air around them shiver, as if sharing in his fragility. Or was it trembling, quivering in the power he radiated? She could feel it, as she did every time the distance between them closed. His very presence was a distortion in the world, a stone cast into a pool of still water, the blood running through him thrumming with a power that was not meant for man. She knew that to be true. She tasted it herself, an equal measure of divinity and mortality. But no matter how intoxicating it had been, no matter how sweet a tang it had left on her tongue, she could still feel it. He was still human.

_Something I cannot say for myself. _She thought. It had hurt her to be so close to men and women who lived mortal lives, to wine and dine and laugh with them, only to have that closeness ripped from her, drained from her as she trembled underneath the sheets. It had hurt throughout the night, fighting off all desire of sleep, demanding to be felt. It still hurt.

Serana pushed herself from the bed's protective embrace and sat up, squinting at the cistern with lidded eyes. The noonday sun, apparent with its intensity even filtered through her eyelids, turned her away from the skylight. The Guild, it seemed, was already hard at work.

Arrows thudded into a circular target made out of stuffed straw, drawn and released by two men, whom she identified as Thrynn and Niruin from the night before, in rapid succession. She squinted. Apparently Thrynn was not much of a marksman, as Niruin often went over his motions, making small adjustments to his posture and stance. Her eyes went wide, taking in a Nord woman with broad shoulders, a stream of snow-white hair streaming down her back, leaning over a brunette hard at work with a lockpick. Vex's arms were crossed, her head shaking as Sapphire perfected her technique through trial and error. The faintest scent of stew wafted across the cistern, borne of poor ventilation and Tonilia's versatile handling of any and all things edible. An oil lamp sat on a table laden with scrolls, illuminating missives and ledgers for the man poring over them, black-clad arms spread as if taking possession of all that they represented.

The Guild, it seemed, was very much alive.

She could feel its pulse as she had the night before, crashing down on her as the sea spray did on the foundations of Castle Volkihar, and she longed to immerse herself in it as she had the night before. But somehow, she could no longer look upon them without feeling her fangs itch. it was something built deep into her, a mark on her mind and body that set her irrevocably apart. How had she gotten so close to them? How could they have _let _her, when one errant twitch, one split second of her instincts kicking in, would have turned her into a... monster?

_Monster._

She winced. There was no denying it now. The ritual had not improved her; It had changed her. It had both given and taken, a bloody pact masquerading as a gift.

She did not catch his muffled footsteps until it was too late.

"How's the hangover, princess?"

She felt herself split in half, her heart and mind going completely different directions as his voice reached her ears.

Her heart leapt as if it had not withered and died centuries ago, sending a flood of warmth through her. His words from last night rang in her ears anew, the strain in them only reinforcing her belief that every single word was genuine.

Joy was a simple emotion, but her heart leapt for it nevertheless.

She opened her mouth to speak, but then she felt them press into her tongue. Instinctually, her senses kicked into high gear, and she had to bite down on her tongue to keep herself from spinning, lunging and sinking her fangs into him. Her mind blanked out, wholly saturated by the predatory side of her.

And she hated every second of it until the pain and blood bled back into nothing. She swiveled on the bed and forced herself to smile, holding a hand to her forehead.

"How are you feeling?" Arcturus asked, his eyebrows drawing together.

"Better than last night." She said, finding a use for the dull throb that persisted in her mouth. "The headache hasn't quite worn off yet, though."

She watched the tension drain from his posture, noticing a pile of clothes on one hand, neatly folded and topped with a pair of leather boots. "What's that?"

"This," he said, setting it down on the edge of the bed, "would be your wardrobe change. If you'd paid attention to some of the more affluent lingering in the marketplace we passed, Alessian leather stopped being the new black quite some time ago. So I took the liberty and whipped up a little something for you." His voice petered out near the end, and the tip of his boot scratched one of the bed's legs. Was he... embarrassed? He certainly seemed eager to see her reaction.

Not one to disappoint, she set the boots aside and shook out the article of clothing on top. It was a blouse, knotted up along the front and adorned with vertical streaks of blue. It was form-fitting, even at a glance.

"Why do I get the feeling that, even with the absence of a tailor among the Thieves' Guild, this is going to fit me perfectly?" She asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"I have a sharp eye." He smiled.

_And ample time to size me up while I was happily drunk._

She kept the wisecrack to herself as she laid the blouse out flat on the bed and reached for the next article. It was deceptively heavy, a collared hoodie of heavy brown fabric with only one short sleeve for her free arm. The other sleeve, it seemed, was cut away when whoever had made it made a diagonal cut from right shoulder to left underarm, leaving her with a slanted, hooded brown top to go with her off-white blouse. She turned it round and back again, particularly pleased.

"I rest my case. This is _exactly_ what I want." She said with genuine cheer. She had always hated how her leather cuirass put a cap on her sword arm's full range of motion, and this new, decidedly unclassifiable piece of clothing struck the perfect balance between an eye-catching aesthetic and a thoughtful functionality. It even came with a pair of elbow-length fingerless gloves to make up for the relatively exposed sections of her arms. She looked back up at him and gave him a wide, grateful smile. "Can I try it on?" She asked.

A spark jumped in his eye. "Of course. The training room should be empty. Just over there," he said, pointing at a doorway on the opposite platform. She piled the clothes and boots into her arms and hurried across the wooden walkways connecting the platforms with a spring in her step.

She passed Brynjolf on the way. He was too occupied with the scrolls to notice her, but his shadow did. It detached itself from the shade cast by the cupboards behind him, taking a decidedly slimmer and more feminine form. Purple eyes gleamed with enigmatic emotion, prompting her to slow her steps as Karliah whispered words only she could hear.

"He doesn't do this for just anyone."

Serana nodded, wondering where Karliah's interests lay in drawing them closer together. Was it guilt? She had half a mind to ask her flat out, but decided against it. She doubted it she'd tell her anyway.

"I know," she said instead, "I heard every word." She held out hope for a small look of surprise, but was, surprisingly, disappointed.

Karliah smiled, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "You were meant to." Serana wanted to press her for more, but Karliah put a finger to her lips and motioned towards the training room. "Don't keep him waiting."

As Serana stumbled her way to the training room, she found it increasingly difficult to resent Arcturus' old, imaginary flame.

She stripped herself of the bulky Alessian leather with uncharacteristic haste and slipped into the blue-and-white blouse. She sighed when the soft fabric, worlds apart from the rough, aged leather, nuzzled her like a second skin.

Next, the lopsided leather hoodie wrapped itself securely around her shoulders, warm, asymmetrical brown clashing with orderly stripes of blue and white. She flipped the cloth hood over her head experimentally, letting out a small chuckle when it, combined with the loose collar, shielded her completely from sunlight.

Then, she tossed a quick glance towards the door to make sure no one - _Rune _- was looking, then pulled off her boots and pants hastily. Cool air tickled the bare skin on her legs for the first time in centuries, and she felt a sliver of it reach between them. One of her fingers twitched, as if wanting to dip down and make sure what lay between her legs was still there, but she suppressed the urge.

_Best not yield any more ground to overactive imagination. _She thought.

A shadow crossed from one side of the doorway to another, catching her watchful eye. Was it him? Had he come to check on her?

Her mind went to all sorts of places before she could rein it in, feeding her images of him standing in the doorway, his cobalt eyes staring into her confused expression as she clamped her legs together. What would he do?

It was then that she realised that a part of her wanted it to come to pass, for him to knock on the doorframe and catch her there, naked and vulnerable. It was the same part of her feeding a warm, steady throb into her thoughts. She traced it to its source, looking down. She fought the urge to set a finger on it once again, making fists out of her hands.

But where her body fell off, her mind picked up the slack.

A ring of warmth ghosted across her arms. She felt wind tickle the side of her neck, or was it his breathing? Her legs threatened to give out, but something held her upright in spite of it, smothering her in a wall of heat. She bit back a moan hard enough to draw blood as one half of the ring detached from her arms and probed southwards. She writhed, shaking the taste of blood onto her tongue.

_Blood._

They burst from their sheaths as if on cue, setting her mouth agape with such force that she lurched forward. She grunted. The images were no more, replaced with an overwhelming desire to spin and bite hard and deep.

This time, she could not fight it.

She whirled around, the tight-fitting pants and leather boots on the floor forgotten as she growled, ready to pounce.

He was not there.

_He never was._

She shook her head. Her fangs slid back into place.

_What is wrong with me? _She thought, exasperated. She was supposed to be excited for _clothes_, not getting her rocks off in the changing room! And worse still, what did her fangs have to do with what went on down south?

_Is this going to happen every time I think about him?_

That thought sent a veritable chill down her spine, and her hands fumbled as she pulled the rough cotton leggings up to her waist. She ran a hand down one leg, amazed at how snug a fit it was. Everything, down to the soles of her boots and the length of her fingerless gloves, fit her perfectly. It made her question just how much time Arcturus must have put into tailoring the whole outfit. Even the studded utility belt sported loops that she assumed were made specifically for her blood potions.

_These are my clothes. _She thought with mild wonder. _Not made by me, but definitely made _for _me. _She shifted her weight from foot to foot, running a smooth eye over the streamlined curves from the swell of her chest to the heels of her boots. Her red-and-black Alessian leathers piled next to her feet. She picked it up and rolled it into a tight ball of unrecognisable fabric, bringing it to one side of the room where a fireplace steadily crackled. She threw the bundle in, letting the flames swallow it up. It was oddly liberating.

As she rounded the bend that would take her back to the open cistern, she pictured what Arcturus' eyes would look like when he laid eyes on her. She was fairly sure that all this skintight business was for his benefit as much as it was for hers., but surely he did not expect the tailoring to fit her like a glove. After all, there had been no touching involved.

_Or was there? _She thought.

She tried not to acknowledge the fact that he had carried her to the bed in his arms as natural sunlight greeted her eyes once again. She put a strut in her stride, eager to show him just how well everything fit her.

He was not there, as she had expected him to be. A sinking feeling replaced the anticipation pooled in her stomach.

"Sapphire," she called to the petite brunette, who was in a lapse between unlocking one practice chest and the other. "Where did Arcturus go?"

Sapphire shrugged. "Said he had to take care of something. I saw him heading out front, to the Flagon."

_Didn't even bother to stay to see how his handiwork looked like. _Serana thought bitterly, nodding a distracted thanks. A few of the men paused in their routines to toss glances her way. _Probably planning the next leg of the journey. Well, at least I'll have plenty of chances to say thanks._

She tried to kick her mind back into gear, ignoring the light in the men's eyes as she gave the cistern a good, long look. It's been a while since she felt at home. Even with the millennial lapse in consciousness, her last memories of home were somewhat less than pleasant. And to someone whose prime motive for becoming a vampire was to make more time to hold her family together, it was more than a bit depressing.

_The Guild, _she mused. _I certainly don't have family here, but what it gave me was close enough._

_Are we talking about the Guild as a whole, or someone specific? _She recognised the voice as her own. It was simply a variation that derived its entertainment from questioning her motives. _Are we talking blood cakes, or the potion-_

Something long, thin and silvery sailed through the air, disrupting her chain of thought with a trajectory ending on the top of her head. She reached out and caught it square in the middle, feeling her fingers close around hardened leather. It ended curved and sharp on one end, and failed to swallow a silvery handle on the other.

"You do know that's never going to work, right?" She asked, turning towards the man who threw it with a grin.

"It was worth a try." Arcturus said, giving her a once-over when he was close enough. "It looks good on you."

"I have a feeling it was specifically _meant _to look good on me."

"Well, can't have you wandering Skyrim looking like a princess with a washed-up fashion sense. And where we are going, you will need a warmer set of clothes than loose-fitting leather armour." He grinned when she bristled, then pointed at the sheath in her hand. "Sorry about the late delivery. Silver and steel takes longer than cloth and pelts. It's fresh out of the forge." _Try it out, _his eyes seemed to say, and if her peripheral vision was at all accurate, more and more of the Guild were beginning to hold the same view.

She took hold of the hilt in one hand, finding the webbed black steel delicately curved to accommodate her grip. Intricate runes set on silver separated the handle from a slanted guard, where the rest of the blade lay hidden within the leather casing. With one swift, silent motion, she unsheathed the blade, laying eyes on a single, honed edge curved on both ends. The guard end melded seamlessly with the curvature that ran uniform with the rest of the sword, while the business end angled upwards menacingly, reminding Serana of her fangs. But where her fangs were bone-white, the sword was a dazzling, polished silver.

"It's beautiful." She murmured, turning the sword so it caught the light at all angles. The tip was sharp, the balance was fair and the weight was almost nonexistent. She liked it.

"Irnskar actually named it. Mithrodin." Arcturus said, rolling his eyes. She recognised the word as one usually used by denizens of the Summerset Isles.

_Silverfang._

"It's a good name." She said, running her tongue over the roof of her mouth, feeling her fangs hum as if in approval.

"It's a good _sword_." He corrected.

She gave the sword a few experimental twirls, giving startled yelps when the odd flourish slipped her grasp. The craftsmanship was peerless, surely, but it was her who needed time to adjust to a new blade.

Arcturus groaned. "That's not going to work, Serana." He turned towards the centre of the cistern, beckoning for her to follow. "Come on. I think a stress test is in order."

"Of what?"

"Of everything!" He whirled round, backpedalling with laid-back ease. "Everything you have on right now came off the drawing board just a few hours ago. We have to make sure it's ready for the road." The corners of his lips curled then. "Plus, I haven't seen you in action with a sword yet."

_He means to duel me! _The thought crossed her mind, stirring up a headstrong side of her she could not deny, and she joined him under the skylight, locking eyes. The light streaming down from above got into her eyes. She blinked it away, adjusting her footing to the width of her shoulders.

"That why we're sparring under the sun? We both know that's not going to save you, Nightingale." She teased, noticing the assembling Guild on the platforms all around her.

"I could get the folks upstairs to give us some shade, but I feel like even that would to take more breath out of me than beating you, vampire."

"You're all talk."

"You're all looks." He ran a lewd eye over her, and she felt something inside her chest spike. She frowned. She knew what lay inside. But it couldn't be... could it?

She caught the flicker of midnight black just in time and lifted her sword, its brilliant silver keeping his Nightingale blade inches from her face and a vertical cleave that, had it been a genuine fight, would have opened her from forehead to pelvis. The sheath in her other hand thudded hollow on the ground, forgotten as she glared at his mischievous eyes. She pushed against him, and he backed away, assuming a high guard that put his sword overhead, his front foot ready to propel him forward.

_A duelist's stance._

She took hold of her sword with both hands and angled it at a diagonal, ready to respond to any sudden move on Arcturus' part. Her boots crossed over one another as she started a circle across from him, watching for a lapse in his footing she could take advantage of over the Silverfang's razor edge.

Arcturus followed suit, his smile unreadable to her as he kept her directly in front of him. The background changed behind him, switching from one Guild member to the other as they circled the central platform. She tuned it out, focusing on Arcturus, the blade in his hands and the way his feet moved. One errant twitch, one flicker in his unbroken poise, and his intentions would be revealed to her, and he would be hers.

_And you'd want that, wouldn't you?_

The single thought threatened to break her concentration, so she did the only thing she could.

She charged, holding her blade steady as she closed the distance between him and her in a heartbeat. As her front foot provided her with the momentum she needed to reach Arcturus, her other foot pivoted, twisting her so that her sword arm faced him. Silverfang lanced out in a lightning-fast lunge that, given enough force, would have gone through Arcturus' chest and out his back. Fortunately for him, she only intended a light tap on the nightbird on his chest.

She felt the tip go past the point of impact, striking nothing but air. Arcturus simply tucked his rear foot behind his front, collapsing his stance into a sidestep with minimal effort. His blade rapped hers on the side, sending a shiver through her arm. The move nearly disarmed her. She tightened her grip and recalled Silverfang with a forehand flourish, building on the force of Arcturus' parry. It returned to her just in time to block a slash at her cheek.

_Let the games begin. _She smiled as Arcturus assaulted her from all sides.

_Up, down, left, right, center._

He probed at her every flank with a flurry of strikes, and she caught all of them halfway. None of them were fatal blows. That meant something.

_He's testing my form for weaknesses. _She thought as she snuck a counterblow painfully close to his waist. He was simply too fast. Her form was one deeply rooted in Nordic traditions, focused on a stalwart defense that denied her opponents any opening while she exploited theirs. It was slow on the offense, relying on a single, calculated and decisive blow to kill, or at least disarm.

She called on her superhuman strength to push away his continuous assault, hearing him grunt as his quick, but volatile strikes were overpowered. She pushed him back towards the centre of the platform, their blades spinning a blinding weave of black against silver.

_He uses speed to his advantage, so I have to be careful, even if he's on the defensiv-_

Her thoughts were cut short when a particular cleave of hers took a split second too long, giving him all the opportunity he needed to tap her on the shoulder. The din of steel on steel bled away into a tense moment of silence.

"And there goes your head." Arcturus grinned, his blue eyes sparkling with triumph. Serana's gut twisted in indignation, but she maintained her composure. Grace in defeat, she reminded herself.

She had to admit though, she didn't quite like the sound of that word.

"Don't get too happy, _Art_. I'm not even trying." Serana smirked, swinging Silverfang into a backhand grip. She had been using the form Harkon taught her.

_Should've guessed it wouldn't work._

She held up both hands, one with her sword, one without. "Both hands this time. Problem?"

"Not at all."

Arcturus returned to his position, directly across from her. His chest rose and fell evenly, the tip of his sword touching the ground at his side. The gathered crowd watched with bated breath. To them, he was the knight in shining armour, carting her, the damsel in distress, around the province. It was starting to get a little annoying.

She did not wait for the circling this time. Tucking Silverfang tight against her body, Serana spun, leaping at the last moment to deliver a devastating, top-down blow. There was no sidestepping. Arcturus met her blade with his. She backed away for better footing, then closed in again, keeping the back of Silverfang against her arm. It combined both her offense and defense, immersing herself in her instincts to block and parry in tandem with her aggression. Arcturus twisted and backpedalled, evading her attacks. She kept on his heels, brushing off errant strikes against her unprotected flank with her free hand. With her strength, it was just as effective as a small buckler.

She continuously forced him back. He continuously fell back. She was winning, right?

_Right?_

As she kept chasing him around the platform, always inches away from a killing blow, her impatience broke through her concentration and answered her question.

_You're winning, but you can't _win.

Frustration bubbled up inside her, defying her vampire blood. Had she persisted with the Nordic technique, she would have worked up the patience to win through attrition. He was human. She was a vampire. The odds were in her favour.

_He's Dragonborn. _She corrected herself. _There's no whittling down his defenses._

_You're a vampire, but you fight like a human. _A voice inside her whispered.

_My strength saved me more than a couple of times already. _She retorted.

_But that is not all that you are, no? Idle strength is not the only thing I gave you. _It crooned, dark and foreboding. _You need only set it free._

She locked a nook in Silverfang's design with his blade and pushed him back. His eyes kept on hers all through the fight, and she saw smugness creep into his composure as her onslaught came to an end.

Or, at least, he thought it did.

Serana's impatience boiled over and sparked. She saw red in her eyes, and heard an inhuman hiss escape her lips. She found herself unable to close her mouth, and she bared her teeth.

She felt the air on her fangs, revealed where all could see. Hushed gasps rose among the Guild. She paid them no heed. Arcturus was staring at her, sword limp at his side, defenseless. She pounced.

Arcturus blocked Silverfang's savage attack, catching it with the flat of his Nightingale blade. His eyes flared when Serana's other hand, her free hand, gripped his shoulder and jerked him forward. That was the last Serana saw of his face, for she felt a burst of strength in her limbs. She used it, vaulting over the immobile Arcturus and landing on her feet behind him. The nook on the back of Silverfang latched onto his blade, forming a crucifix of black and silver that pinned him in place while her mouth homed in on his neck. She had him.

"I have you," she growled, a savage smile playing on her lips as the high coursed through her, running electricity from the tips of her toes to her fangs. Her eyes ran over the skin of his neck, unprotected by his hood, taking in nothing else.

She felt him move, and tightened her sword arm's cinch around his neck. The Nightingale blade and Silverfang tinkled against one another. But he did not move away, as they often did.

She felt a wave of confusion break through the bloody haze in her as he pressed himself into her deadly embrace. Her fangs met flesh. His flesh. She could feel the blood pulsing just beneath.

"You have me," he answered, his tone confounding her even more. There was no fear, no confusion. This was not her prey. This was... an offering.

She blinked, seeing the background she had neglected for so long. Delvin, Vex and Karliah stared at her, eyes wide in disbelief and tense anticipation. Vex had her hand on her dirk.

Serana sucked in a breath through her mouth. Air rushed in past her fangs.

_Her fangs._

The breath continued its journey until it reached her lungs, where it took the form of an icy dagger and stabbed her in the heart.

Silverfang clattered to the floor. She pushed Arcturus away from her and put a hand over her mouth, trying to make her fangs retract. She mewled in frustration. They wouldn't. She collapsed into herself on the stone, and a shadow fell over her. Arcturus.

"Come on, guys, you've seen weirder shit than this. Delvin, go beat yourself off somewhere and get them back to work. Come on, back to work!"

Serana heard the Guild fall back into its daily motions, but she knew it would never be the same. The shadow fell away, replaced by one with a familiar face at her side. It was a face she needed to avoid.

"Hey," he sat and stared into her eyes so she could not look away. "I was just playing around. No need to get _that _serious."

"I know." She answered. _I know better_. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I know bottled blood gets tiring after a while. I'll try to get you something fresh, non-lethally, when we get back on the road." He looked around, shooing away the odd eavesdropper until her breathing returned to normal.

Then, "you could've done it, you know. I wouldn't have minded."

"What?" She asked, incredulous, "I could have killed you! I can still kill you!" She scooted away from him, not trusting her self-restraint.

"You've done it once before, and saved my life. I think that deserves a bit of my trust."

"I can still hurt you." _I don't want to, but it's not always up to me._

He ran a finger along her arm then, his touch electrifying even through a layer of cloth. "I don't mind."

She pulled herself away from his touch and stood. She needed to be away from him. She did not want anything else to regret.

"I do." She said.

She left for her bed to gather her meagre belongings. He did not hold her back.


	16. Taste

"There it is, Lyn." Arcturus patted Lynette's neck and pointed. The black-maned charger followed his finger, taking in the dingy town, illuminated by moonlight and the occasional lantern ahead of them. She nickered and a voice, born solely of Arcturus' imagination, rang in his head. To him, her voice was heavily accented and rough around the edges. He thought that was what a horse should sound.

_ That's Winterhold? _She said dubiously, taking in the grand total of less than a half-dozen wood-and-straw buildings._ Doesn't look like much._

"Most of its impressive bits are up there," Arcturus directed her unblinking eyes to a stone bridge far in the distance, leading to a castle larger than the town itself, towering above a sea of ice. "The locals tend to disagree, though."

_Wait, _Lynette plowed a hoof through the snow, _you're not tying me here, right?_

"Afraid so," Arcturus answered, swinging himself off the saddle. He grabbed the reins when Lynette's watery eyes bored straight into his, the apparent lack of conscious thought in them almost accusatory. "Hey, you can't exactly huddle with us under the cliff!" Worried that the mages in the College might detect Serana's decidedly different life force, he had elected to set camp further away from Winterhold itself, finding a nice little nook on the leeward side of the valley. It had a perfect view over the ice sheets, where he and Serana were bound, and the outcropping above them ensured that all the wind in the world would do nothing but pass over their heads.

_You just want alone-time with her! _Lynette turned from him and tossed her head in disapproval.

"You're too heavy! The ice would fall apart under your feet!" He exclaimed, tugging on her reins to get her to follow. "I don't even know why I'm explaining myself to you."

_Let me guess - because Serana hasn't spoken a word since we left Riften two days ago, and you fell back on me to keep you company? _Lynette said.

He grunted, but kept moving towards what he presumed was the town's inn. "That's pathetic."

_An accurate description of you, I think. _Lynette nudged him, either to reinforce her point or to get her increasingly erratic master to move. _Heavy might be a good word too. I'd sooner carry her than you._

Arcturus cleared his throat. "And for that, you're staying here for the next few days." He grinned when she whinnied, the sudden reluctance in her movements tasting like sweet revenge.

"Cheer up! You'll have a roof over your head, enough straw to roll around in, and plenty of-" He rounded the flimsy pane of wood shielding the stables from those on the road with a greedy eye for horses, only to find the stalls empty. "Scratch that, looks like you'll be your own company."

As he led her into one of the stalls, Lynette stared straight at him. This time, he was torn between it being a plea for mercy or a final act of defiance. Nevertheless, he looped her reins round a post and knotted it tightly, then turned to find the stablemaster, who doubtlessly sought refuge from the chilling wind indoors.

_Have you wondered why she stopped speaking to you, Arcturus?_

He froze mid-stride, looked back at Lynette. She was already busying herself with a trough of water. It was not her voice. It was lighter, softer, smoother than Lynette could ever have been, and it seemed to come from deeper inside him, from somewhere beyond his overactive imagination.

_Milady, is that you? _He asked silently, haltingly.

_Nay, it is your sentient beast of burden, coming to question you and your questionable judgment. _The voice laughed, a mystical sound horses, even imaginary horses, were definitely incapable of.

_ Glad to see you are in a gaming mood, milady. _He said. The words in his head, spoken like a scolding mother pushing her child to do better, gave him everything he needed to divine fact from fiction. He would never allow a figment of imagination the audacity to question him.

_You have not answered my question. _Nocturnal said, her voice as clear as the wind howling in his ears, winning the battle for his attention instantly. It was as if she was right beside him, her bare feet silent upon the snow-covered ground as she walked beside him. He turned his head involuntarily, picturing her midnight-black eyes, and her slender figure clad in that low-hanging nightgown of hers.

_I would sooner defer to your wisdom. You know many things that I do not._

_ True, but one does not need as unattainable a virtue as wisdom to divine what troubles you. What's more, it is infinitely amusing to watch you at work. _Nocturnal said.

_At what? _Arcturus asked, but he already knew the answer. Her eyes had never left him. The world must be quite stale for her to dote on him so.

_At her, of course! Surely you did not think me unaware of your fraternisation with one of Molag Bal's thralls. _She said, a ghost of a smile on her ghostly lips. Arcturus averted her gaze, tempted to drop a pouch of Septims at the stablemaster's door. _'Tis shameful, really, to be the one Prince most frequently compared to that horn-headed wretch. He lacks finesse._

_ She has a name. _Arcturus said.

_I noticed. I also noticed that she has not responded to your advances with much enthusiasm. _She said. He could not tell if her words, so blunt and direct, were her speaking freely or an innuendo of hers, hinting towards his attempts to befriend Serana being overly aggressive.

His mind wrenched control from him and conducted a mental review, beginning with one most recent - the exchange of words after their duel. The crossing of blades had left him breathless, feeling more alive than ever, and the high refused to subside even after Serana's potentially fatal retaliation. It was that high that prompted him to edge closer to her, after all the attempts she made to push him away, and it was what brought his fingers along her arm in a manner that was all but discreet.

Then she'd went away, and has not spoken a word to him since.

_Did I go too far? _He thought to himself. _Was that what happened?_

Nocturnal sighed. _Mortals are such melodramatic creatures. You've noticed her fangs, yes?_

_ Who hasn't? _Arcturus snapped. He had thought it obvious enough.

_ Ah, but have you noticed how they creep out, despite her best attempts to hide them behind your back? Have you caught the scent of their hunger, for the object of their desire, and that of hers?_ Arcturus felt her arm on his shoulders as she leaned into him, whispering into his ear forbidden secrets.

_She fancies you, my child. 'Tis understandable - you were the one who freed her, the first to treat her as the woman she is in over a thousand years, and you show her a kindness she does not think she deserves. This you know. But what you also know, and stubbornly refuse to believe as you humans oft do, is that a part of her desires you even more._

_ I trust her self-control. _Arcturus argued.

_ But she doesn't! _Nocturnal whispered, the mirth coating her tone grinding his teeth together. _This is not about you. This is about her and her insecurities. _She _is the one afraid of hurting you. And nothing you do can change the way she thinks._

The words struck him like hammer blows, knocking the wind out of him. He could feel the truth in them, and the feeling of powerlessness disarmed him. She was his Daedric Prince, the closest thing he has to a patron deity. Listening to her was often wise, and it was by her grace that he could choose the adventurous paths in life and emerge unscathed.

But this time, he refused to listen. He fought, with every fibre of his being.

_Why? _He asked. An act of defiance.

_You're not a vampire. _Noctural said simply. _You are prey, and she the predator._

_ I'm hardly without fangs._

_ Please, child, I know full well your capabilities. She does as well. But it doesn't matter. _Nocturnal said as footsteps finally sounded from beyond the door. _Whether she drains you of your Dovah blood, or breaks herself against your might as waves break upon rock, the outcome remains the same._

He mustered up a retaliation just as the door opened, the thoughts dying in his head as a blonde-haired Nord poked his head out, yawning as he did.

"You don't look like a wizard. What business do you have, this late at night?" He asked. His voice, though youthful, reeked of alcohol and pessimism.

Arcturus blinked the thoughts of his previous conversation away. "I have a horse I wish to keep in your stables." He pointed at the stable's general direction.

"You a student?" The Nord asked.

"Excuse me?"

"A student. Y'know, looking to get into the College. Most of the enrolled have their own rooms up there, in that thrice-blasted monstrosity of theirs."

"No," Arcturus said, noting the apparent hostility towards the College. His previous visit to the stable, and the adjoining inn, was behind a Thieves' Guild mask, so he was not surprised the innkeeper and stablemaster did not recognise him. "I'm here on other business."

The innkeeper's eyes narrowed in on him, suspicion plain in his expression. "Other business, is it? I hope you're not planning any trouble, stranger."

"Of course not. I've simply found other accommodations," Arcturus said before the innkeeper cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"Ah, what do I care. There ain't much left that you can stir up around these parts anyway. The arse-end of Skyrim, this is." He gestured with his hand, and Arcturus dropped a pouch of fifty Septims into it. More than enough to cover the expenses for Lynette's two-day stay. "Even if that army of the Empire's marches this far east, it won't give a rat's arse about us."

Arcturus frowned.

_Elisif's gone on the offensive? _He thought, then corrected himself. _Tullius. Not her. Tullius and the Thalmor._

"What army?" He asked nonetheless.

The innkeeper rolled his eyes, shrinking back into the warmth of the inn and the promise of liquor now that the deal was done. "You haven't heard? The Imperials have broken the truce, not that there ever was one. Swept through the outer defenses like a wind through a wench's skirt, I heard. And it wasn't no army, too. They say there were only a handful of warriors, far ahead of the main body."

_The Penitus Oculatus? _Arcturus thought. _Impossible. The fools couldn't see murder if it slapped them in the face._

"Some say the mages in Solitude found the snow elves and brought them back to life," the innkeeper said. "Skin white as snow, and about as fast as those slippery sharp-ears. Now there's a load of bullshit."

Arcturus' blood went cold.

_Pale and fast._

He had an idea who the handful were.

_They the predator, you the prey._

He took off towards the cliffs in a steady run, Lynette, Winterhold and the chilling cold in his bones inconsequential in the face of the news. Serana needed to hear this.

He circled around the hills to the right of Winterhold, coming under the shadow of a line of sheer rocks standing guard against a seemingly endless vista of ice to the north. Centuries of erosion had left the base strangely, but not dangerously, hollow, and the rocks above proved to be as good a roof as solid brick, especially when compared to the wind-blasted straw Arcturus had looked at with suspicion. Once he was under the cliff face's protection, the wind ceased to bite into his flanks. There was, however, no denying the cold, so he looked hopefully on for the telltale light of the campfire. He found it in the centre of a hole bitten into the side of the cliffs, where a small mound of saddlebags and a woman made their home for the night. The sight of Serana invigorated him, and he kept at a slow jog until he could see her more clearly.

Then he froze.

She was huddled close to the fire, close enough to risk setting herself alight. And she was shivering.

"Serana!" He shouted, rushing to her side. She raised her head at his call, but her fiery eyes flickered as her body trembled. It didn't make sense! He had changed out the brown leather top, already warm to the point of smothering in its own right, for another that was lined with furs at the collar, before they even set off for the north, and the enchantments he had woven into the fabric should have insulated her against the elements, from one extreme to the other.

But there was no denying that which was unfolding before his eyes. And from the looks of it, vampires were not exempt from freezing to death.

He shrugged off his cloak and made to cover her with it, but she held up a hand. Her arm shivered from the effort.

"Don't... come any closer." She warned, the caution in her voice dulled by intense fatigue. Arcturus unwilling ground to a halt, his breath catching with every tremor wracking Serana's body.

"At least put this on," he pleaded, folding the cloak in half and tossing it to her. It landed in the snow, and stayed there, for she made no move to retrieve it.

"It's not that," she said. "Vampire... Remember?"

"Then what..." Arcturus asked, his mind kicking into high gear. The fire was already warming him up, so it couldn't be the cold.

_This I know._

_ But what you also know, but stubbornly refuse to believe, is that a part of her desires you even more._

His eyes widened with understanding. Horror ensued. "When was the last time you fed?"

Serana squeezed her eyes shut and buried her head into her thighs. She did not want him asking that question, but she answered nevertheless.

"Since... the night with Vex... and the others..." She managed weakly, every syllable distorted. Arcturus' eyes went wide. He wanted to go to her, to wrap himself around her and lend her his warmth, but he could not. She wouldn't let him. He knew the reason why, and he could not go against it.

"Where are your blood potions?" He asked.

"Ran out... that night."

"Why didn't you tell me!"

"I..." Serana began. She did not find the strength to continue. The shivers stopped.

Arcturus felt ice slither through him, envelop his heart, and squeeze. She no longer had to will to resist, so he slid to his knees beside her and grabbed her, curled into a ball, by the shoulder.

She fell apart, boneless. He caught her head just before it hit the ground. Panic took hold of him and sought to freeze his mind and body. He fought to stay conscious.

_Think, Arcturus, think! _He, with sheer force of will, distanced himself from the situation and tried to form coherent thoughts.

_What is happening?_

_ Serana is dying._

His heart pounded against his ribs at the word, but he forced himself to continue.

_How did it happen?_

_ She hasn't fed for three days._

_ Why?_

_ I don't know, damn it, I don't know!_

He forced himself to breathe, painfully aware that Serana was not doing the same.

_What can you do?_

After that, the answer came upon him with startling clarity. His mind objected at once.

_She's the predator, you're the prey._

_ I don't care._

_ She can kill you._

_ I avoid the arteries. Make it easier for me to pull away if she gets out of control. _He thought, planning ahead. He found it easier to get into action then, and sliced open his Nightingale armour along his left shoulder with the dirk he kept in his boot. He peeled the second skin of black leather and mail away, feeling the cold air on his bare skin.

_She _will _get out of control._

_ You know what? I don't really give a fuck. _He snapped, dirk poised over the bare patch. He looked at Serana, at the emptiness between her lips where her mouth lolled open.

He brought the blade over his skin in a single, prickling cut. He felt the blood well instantly.

Serana did, too. Her eyes sprang open with a gasp, and Arcturus heard the telltale squelch as her fangs slid from their hiding places behind her teeth. He felt a bolt of fear race through him, but he stayed in his place.

Serana's eyes met his, alight with a predatory gleam he instantly associated with her with disturbing ease. It was as if the woman he had freed from Dimhollow Crypt, brought from one corner of the province to the other and come to cherish above all else had shed her humanity. It was like staring into the eyes of an animal.

She pounced on him, nearly knocking him over. Her hands clamped like vices over his shoulder and neck, keeping the part of him she wanted in place. She hissed against his skin, her golden eyes fixated the crimson liquid welling from the wound. She tipped her tongue with it, and her entire body shivered in delight.

He had made a mistake. This was Serana no longer. This was an animal, consumed by greed and hunger, starved for so long that it no longer remembered what it was.

It was no longer Serana, and it would gladly drain him dry.

And somehow, he did not care.

Indeed, instead of the survival instinct he felt he should be feeling - the urge to push himself to his feet with one foot, lash out with the other and drawing his sword in a crescent motion, cleaving the bloodthirsty monster at his side with one fell swoop - he felt only a soothing resignation.

"Do it," he whispered to her. He closed his eyes. He had heard vampires' venom acted as an aphrodisiac of sorts, keeping their victims willing and content while they drained every last drop of blood from them. He had always wanted to know what it felt like.

Serana whimpered.

Arcturus opened his eyes, and there she was - all-consuming hunger warring with a conscious fear of where she was and what she was doing, and her primal urge to feed held at bay by the tears in her eyes.

She wanted to turn away, but she could not. He would not have let her anyway.

"You won't hurt me." Arcturus whispered, blinking away the doubt in his eyes and putting on a smile for her. Her eyes softened. A single tear rolled down one cheek.

He felt her fangs on his skin once again, and a thrill ran though him.

And he enjoyed it.

The fangs broke through into flesh, and Serana's lips closed fully on his skin. He winced at the sharp prick, but all was washed away as Serana, fully immersed in the taste of his blood, let out a muffled moan of pleasure.

He looked back and beheld a different creature entirely. Serana's eyes were closed in abject rapture, her nostrils flared from the scent of blood so close to them, and her lips pulsed in time with every suckling motion she made against his skin, drawing more and more out of him. The draining itself was not as diabolical as he had imagined - it was more of a latent chill, inching through his veins as his blood disappeared down Serana's gullet faster than his heart could keep up with.

He felt his muscles relax. Was it of his own accord, or the venom coursing through his system, rendering him susceptible to Serana's every whim, or was it simply the fact that his muscles have lost that which fuels their movements?

Frankly, he was more than happy to let the matter slip, for that was when the pleasure kicked in.

It was everywhere at once - a pleasant, numbing sensation that coaxed him to drop his defenses, to let the vampire do with him as she willed. And in return, he would enjoy a slow burn of pleasure, tingling his nerves and setting his heart arace until she was finished with him.

And by the Divines, he did not want her to ever be finished with him.

He sighed heavily, losing the will to contain his pent-up breath. He began to feel her touches on him. Every pulse of her lips against his bare skin, in tandem with his heart, he felt with unprecedented clarity. Every twirl of her fingers against his armour, he felt electricity jump between him and her. From the lazy dance her fingers played on him, she was enjoying this as much as he was.

He began to saw white spots swim across his vision. Panic overrode the pleasure coursing through him, and he almost yanked himself away from her. But then a strong gust of wind passed their shelter by, and the white specks danced crazily in the air.

_It's snowing. _He thought. Then, before the mind-numbing pleasure took over again, he called the memory of magelight to mind. A sphere of werelight coalesced in his outstretched hand, and he blew on it gently to make it spiral into a dazzling array of colours. He lifted his hand and willed the ball of light to settle at the edge of the outcropping, far above.

And now, every speck of snow falling across their field of view was intercepted by the magelight's hues first, creating a dance of spheres of every size, shape and colour.

"Serana," he whispered. She opened her eyes at his behest and beheld the dancing spheres. She gulped deeply with her last draught, then pulled her fangs from him gently. He took the opportunity and scooted backward as she gathered the last drops of blood from his shoulder with her finger and brought it into her mouth. He could not stop watching her.

Her eyes returned to him then, and he saw something different in them again. It was a spark, wholly unlike the primal gleam he had seen when she was starved beyond recognition. He could not quite place it.

She put the question to rest with a sultry smile on her lips, wetting her bottom lip with her tongue, still wet with his blood. "Did you like that?" She asked, eyes twinkling.

He recalled the numbing, full-body pleasure. The venom was easily addicting. "More than you can imagine." He answered.

"It was just for you," she said. Her eyes turned to the sky outside their little alcove, and she gave a light gasp of wonder as a speck of snow the hue of sapphire drifted lazily across her field of vision, followed by rubies, amethysts and every jewel in existence. He saw her eyes widen with pure happiness with every passing jewel, and he was content to simply be there, sharing in her happiness.

But things rarely turn out as they were supposed to.

Serana turned to her, her golden eyes awash with mirth and gratefulness. He felt something inside him break.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."

But she did not look away, and neither did he. For a long, long moment, his mind warred with his heart. It showed on his face, the way his lips quivered ever so slightly. He could see it on her face as well.

Slowly, almost painfully so, he leant in, finding no resistance. She did not push him away this time, nor did she get up and leave. This time, there was only the growing tug of proximity, tightening on his heart with every closing inch, and the feel of her breath, hot and coppery with the scent of blood, tickling his skin.

His lips sought hers, and they opened to greet him. He sighed against her, capturing her lip and not letting go. His fingers danced across the smoothness of her face, sliding down the contours of her neck. He reveled in the feel of her, drank in the taste of her lips and felt himself burn in the heat of the moment. It was all there is - the moment. Nothing else mattered.

She was the one to pull away. He did not stop her. Their lips parted silently, and her breath shook as she exhaled. He closed his mouth, wanting to keep the feel and the taste of her there, until the end of time. He looked at her, and she at him. Her eyes were the one to break contact.

"We shouldn't have done that." She said. "It was the blood, the venom, and... whatever else that got into our heads."

He found no reason to argue the other way.

She stayed silent, as if waiting for his reply. "I mean it!" She exclaimed, running a hand through her hair. "Now I'm wide awake."

He failed to stifle a chortle. "That means you get the watch."

"It does, doesn't it?" She said. "Godsdamn it." He found it immensely enjoyable to listen to her voice. It was still shivering.

"Stop looking at me that way and go to sleep. We still have to find that hermit of yours tomorrow. That is, if this wind cares to blow itself off somewhere else."

"I would rather we stayed here a few more days, wouldn't you?" He said. "Maybe starve you for another couple of days. Who knows what might happen."

"Arcturus," Serana glared at him, the molten gold hot enough to melt iron. "Contrary to popular belief, I _will _eat you raw."

He held up his hands, snuggling into his bedroll. "Have it your way, milady. If I may, though, the fire's right there."

He closed his eyes before her choked retort came, but opened them one last time, to get one last look at her.

Serana was facing the fire, fiddling with her nails, and the sound of her trying to suppress her giggles sang him to sleep.


	17. Lust

/Hey everyone!

Thank you for sticking with me this far! I'm trying my hand at heavy emotional stuff in the latter part of this chapter, something I'm not really experienced in. Please do let me know what you think about it with a review! And if you really like it, drop a favourite! It gives me a heart attack every time, so for those of you who hate my guts, it's a very viable way to get me to shut up.

Enjoy!/

Serana's eyes traced the haphazard lines in the rocks, devoting to the waves' crisscrossing markings her whole attention. She held, quite admirably, for a few moments, before the interconnected veins threw her off with one fork too many. It was as if they _wanted _her elsewhere.

_Don't look._

She gathered herself, shifted her gaze outwards, northwards, to the endless expanse of ice painted black by the night sky. She searched, with growing desperation, for anything that could catch her eye, but soon found it to be an act in futility. There was just the flat, panoramic sheet of ice, unbroken save for the occasional crags of ice which, because of the sheer amount of times she had come across them in her canvassing search, have long since lost their appeal.

_Don't look._

_ Whatever you do, just don't look, because you won't look away after._

Keeping watch had never been this difficult.

She heard a sound breaking free from the constant crackling of the campfire. It was no more than a whisper, muffled and subdued, but her senses, jumpy as she was, snatched it out of the wind with ease. Fearing that some small animal might have slipped into the camp without her noticing, she put a hand on the ground and swung herself round, tracing the sound to its source-

-And came upon the face of a fair-haired, fair-skinned Imperial, his rugged features smoothened by the soft touch of sleep. She felt something inside her break at the sight - a fragile wall of self-restraint, hastily put back together after that moment of indulgence - shattered by the force of a single, simple glance.

Somewhat against her will, she drew closer to him and extended her senses, this time with direction, and found the tempo at which his heart beat. Her eyes settled on the rise of fall of his chest, cocooned in the warmth of his bedroll; Her ears sought the sound of his breathing, pairing the gentle throb of his heart with the steady ins and outs. Its chorus was almost melodious, a stirring mix of constancy and vibrancy. She felt it echo with something inside her, lighting her up with every pulse.

She pressed a tentative hand to her chest, and came away wondering at the wild heartbeat she felt there, her disbelief making it hammer all the harder.

Bewildered, she raised it to her cheek, and found a heat that rivalled the flames at her side, the tangibility of it every bit as scalding.

_What did you do to me?_

She felt her veins flare in answer, charged with a power that did not belong. She drew her perceptions inward and found all that she had taken from him, gasping as she did.

_Thud._

She remembered the first time she had taken blood from him. The moment her fangs sank into his flesh, she was affirmed, beyond all doubt, that he was more than human. Just the taste of him was electrifying enough.

But this time, she had taken and not given it back, and that made things a lot more interesting. She most certainly hadn't heard of the Dragonborn's blood having restorative properties, much less on a thousand-year-old vampire.

_To be fair, he _is _half a dragon. And I don't think anyone's fed from the Dragonborn before, _she mused. Her heart thumped again. She worried if it'd restart the ageing, but in spite of it, all she could do was smile. And, like a happy fool, she did.

A sound reached her ears again, and this time her fixated gaze caught the movement of Arcturus' lips. She leaned in, keeping tabs on his unconsciousness with half a mind.

"Serana." The word tumbled from his mouth. She jerked away from him, eyes wide.

"Serana." He mumbled again, turning to the side this time. His eyes were still closed, his breathing still normal, and his heart still beat as it had when he was silent.

_He talks in his sleep._

She considered the thought for a moment, then bit her tongue to stifle the giggle that was her conclusion. Her heart stuttered in its rhythm, and she thought it infinitely better than having none at all.

_He talks in his sleep. _She thought. _About me._

The sound of his voice, calling her name as a child would ask for a kiss goodnight or one last bedtime story, breathed life into a desire she knew all too well. It had a voice of its own, and it told her that the only way she could still her heart's newfound hammering was to sidle even closer to the man beside her, lay her head on his chest, and let his gentle rhythm guide her back into living with a beating heart. It told her to ease herself into his bedroll, so that her whole body would feel the warmth. Why, then, would the burning in her cheeks matter?

"But then I'd wake him," she whispered, grinning at the way her own thoughts turned. She let slip the absurdity of toying with her own mind, on account of the occasion. "But if he does wake and wants another one, I don't think I'll mind that much."

The memory of the kiss came alive in her mind, intensifying the heat she felt rolling off of her in waves and running cold shivers along her spine. Her lips hung open as she relived the feel of him, the taste of his blood heady between their entwined mouths, and her eyes drifted shut. The world darkened, then came alive with the sight of him as she pulled away from him. Her heart fluttered. It felt wonderful.

_Enough!_

Her vision turned pitch black. Arcturus faded from view, forcibly replaced at his command.

She barely had the time to register the fury hidden behind his voice before she felt her insides rip apart. It opened her up, and she screamed in agony. Her eyes were forced open, and the world was changed. Gone was the idyllic landscape of ice, stars and driving snow, replaced by a darkened sky painted red and orange with blood and flame.

_Coldharbour._

It was the only thing to cross her mind before she drew in a breath to scream anew, only to gag at the smell of burning flesh. Wind and rain lashed at her bare skin, sizzling where they touched her nude, unprotected body. She tried to inch away, to go back the way she came, but she stopped when she felt empty air on her back as she slid backwards.

Hands closed in on her skull, wrenching her gaze from the horrific, dying world around her to its lord and master. She remembered his face, but could not bring herself to look him in the eye even as taloned fingers clawed at her, digging into her flesh.

"Look at me." He said, the authority behind the words shaking with an ominous, trembling anger. Her eyes opened at his command. One hand left her head, returning in a savage swipe, knocking her sideways onto the cold, cracked stone. Her fangs scraped the insides of her mouth and drew blood. She spit the blood out, only to have him draw more from her as he hit her again and again, sharp talons carving bloody furrows across her face slowly, agonisingly. She screamed again, but she knew no one would hear her. This was his realm, and everything in it belonged to him. Including her.

"Does it hurt?" He paused in his blows, leaning in so close that his breath scorched her raw flesh. She squirmed beneath him, but his hunched legs had her pinned. There was no escape, and there was no one who could save her.

Her voice gave out, and the scream that should have been came out a weak, defeated moan. A nihilistic smile played on his warped, reptilian features as he reveled in her vocal surrender.

"Don't you forget how this feels, girl. How it felt when you gave yourself to me." He hissed in her ear. "I took from you your weaknesses, your shortcomings, and I perfected you. And in return?" He drew back and spit on her. She writhed as it sizzled on her skin. "A few honeyed words from a puppet loyal to that treacherous bitch, and you turn your back on me?"

She worked her mouth, the pain making her flinch, but no words came. He was right - there were times when she'd wanted nothing more than to be human. She'd wanted to look at Arcturus and only see the colour of his eyes and the curl of his smile, not having to account for the irresistable lure of his blood running just under the surface. But now, as she looked helplessly up at her captor, her lord and master, she recognised how that could never come to pass. She was too late. A thousand years too late.

"Oh, but you're too late. You belong to me, Volkihar, as you've belonged to me since I gave it to you and your whore mother." He said. A shadow danced behind him, long and pointed. "But there's always that shred of weakness, that sliver of humanity that you mortals cling to. Now, I shall rid you of that."

He leaned in, his scaly skin chafing her face as he whispered in her ear, as a lover might his beloved. But this was not love, and he was no lover. "You think your Nightingale pet any different?" He asked. "Let me show you what he really wants. Deep down, they are all the same."

The shadow behind him dipped, disappearing from view. She felt something long, thin and writhing press between her legs. She clamped them together immediately, denying it entry.

"Submit." Molag Bal whispered into her ear, pinning her arms with his. She felt heat and cold assault her all at once, and her mind reeled at the conflicting sensations. Dimly, she recalled the heat of denied lust, and the cold, delicate shivers of drawn-out anticipation. Then, she returned to the present, and the sensations were no longer pleasant. Still, she tried her hardest to resist, knowing that submission, and the rewards that followed it, was naught but hollow promises.

Molag Bal pulled away from her to frown at her resistance. The perverse enjoyment in his expression disappeared, and he drove the sharp point of his tail against her with renewed, anger-driven furor. She lifted her head as far as he could allow, and saw the wetness pooling between her legs to be blood. She was at the top of the cathedral again as she had been all those years ago, wondering who had put her in this nightmare and holding out hope for the reward at the end. But now, she knew how the ending played out, and that immortality was nothing more than an eternity of agony.

But still she resisted, refusing to give into the pain. Somehow, she found it within herself to fight, to safeguard her ability to feel, to live and to love. Blood flowed from her wounds, rolling down her eyes, her cheeks and onto her lips. Every drop seemed to invigorate her.

"SUBMIT!" Molag Bal roared, pressing himself against her. His tail reared and slammed against her closed thighs, stabbing into her, but she held firm and bit back the scream at the edge of her lips. She heard something, faint and indistinct, and her heart leapt at the possibility of someone else in this twisted realm.

_Shhhhhh..._

Coldharbour fell silent. Above her, Molag Bal snarled at her, lips frantically moving as he hurled abuse at her, but he did so silently. His oppressive weight on her body seemed to vanish, replaced by a cocoon of warmth. The stone at her back no longer chafed her skin, and she felt as if, instead of being pinned down by a humanoid cross between monkey and snake, she was being held in a warm, tight embrace. The feeling was barely tangible - there, yet not there, weakened and distorted over distance.

It had come a long way to reach her, and from how it almost willfully shielded her from the pain, it was certainly not giving up. So how could she?

She opened her eyes and stared straight into Molag Bal's face, hearing the world return with a pop. His scaled, grotesque features contorted into an expression of pure rage, but it was no longer a face she feared. It was one that she hated.

She bared her fangs and hissed at him, feeling the power in her veins come alive. With it, she pushed against his hold on her wrists, breaking his hold over her mind and body. The pain increased tenfold, but she centered herself on the warmth blanketing her.

The fires around her flickered, the wind blowing this way and that with each passing moment. The fabric of the universe was coming undone. She was winning.

"Don't you dare defy me, girl." Molag Bal gritted his files of pointed teeth, trying to keep her under. "I made you what you are. I gave you life. I gave you power. I can take it whenever and however I wish."

"You... are pathetic." Serana spat at him. "Watch how your world crumbles around you. You have no power over me anymore. Leave me be, and never return. Next time, I will kill you." She felt bloodlust well inside her, and this time she saw no reason to suppress it. She bucked beneath him, and came close to dislodging him.

"I am a god! You are my slave! Submit!" He shouted at her, a hoarse edge coming over his voice.

_So this is what desperation sounds like._

"But gods, too, do bleed." She said, and gave one last, almighty push. Her hands were still bound, but the rest of her was not, and her forehead plowed into the spot where his nose was. Molag Bal cried out and toppled backward, losing his hold on her. Serana's forehead came away bloodied.

_Shhhhhh..._

The world fell silent once again, and Serana cast her eyes around in wonder. She was perched on a stone pedestal high in the sky, soundless flames of red and orange all around her. She looked below and saw a city laid out before her eyes. It was built on a narrow cliff, its cobbled streets and stone walls cracked and broken. At its side, she saw a domed building, mounted with four sails that drew flaming circles in the wind.

_Come back to me._

She heard it this time. The city, or someone in it, was calling to her.

_Jump._

She gave Molag Bal one last look. She needed one last act of defiance, one final confirmation, both for him and for her, that he was no longer in control. She found the sight of a Daedric Prince beaten and bloodied more than adequate. She pushed herself upright, feeling the force of the wind tug at her.

"I take my leave, _lord_." She hissed.

_Jump._

She spread her arms wide and let the wind take her. Gravity released its hold on her like a great weight lifted off of her shoulders, and she opened her eyes to see the top of the pedestal shrink with the howl of the wind. It was only then that she saw how high the stone monolith really was, towering over all that was Molag Bal's desolate realm as a man would over a child. Far above her, she saw a shape on the edge of the monolith, and realised how completely and utterly alone he was. It was not something she would want for all the power in the world.

_I'm here._

She felt the fires of the city heat her skin and heard the screams below. She closed her eyes, ready for whatever end that would come.

_It's all right now._

She felt the ground at her back, and braced for the pain of impact. It did not come. The screams stopped, and all she could hear was the crackle of flames, and it, too, seemed changed than what it had been moments before.

She opened her eyes, and the stars winked at her from high above. She turned and found Arcturus' gentle smile, widening as she opened her eyes at long last. She was propped against the cliff wall, next to the campfire, and Arcturus had her in his arms.

"Hey," Arcturus murmured. "How do you feel?"

She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, but the pain was already gone. She could not decide if it was only her own perception, but the pain wasn't the only thing absent. There was something else, something that had been with her since the start, that was no longer there.

"Good... I suppose." Serana said, careful not to strain her throat. She wondered if the hoarseness carried over between different planes of existence. The wounds certainly didn't.

"Nightmare?" Arcturus asked. His arms held her steady as she wiped the encounter from her mind. She still couldn't find it in herself to do more than nod.

Arcturus pulled her tighter against him, sharing in her shivers. He pressed a quick, chaste kiss into her hair, and she felt her heart thump once, sending tingles through her. Her thoughts left Coldharbour behind. This time, there was no Daedric Prince to stop her, and she herself could not stop the wave of emotions washing over her.

Arcturus hushed her. "I'm here. It's all right now." Her ears rang at the words, heard both here and worlds away.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Serana asked. She pushed herself closer to him and found a nook between his neck and shoulder where her head fit snugly. She tilted her head, pressing her ear to his chest. The beat she found there gave her the answer she wanted.

For a long, long while, she simply laid there, letting thoughts turn her mind over and back again. Arcturus' heartbeat faded into the background, its steady rhythm like a pendulum swinging back and forth, leading her to a serenity she had not felt before. She could still feel the thirst gnawing at her, diminished but persistent. It pointed her to the blood running right beside her ears, teasing her with memories of it coating her tongue. But where it had once had a voice, it was now silent. For that, she found it infinitely easier to resist.

_It's my responsibility now. _She thought. _No more voices in my head, telling me to do this and that. I'm free._

_ I am free._

"Arcturus?" She asked, wondering if he was still awake.

"Serana?" He answered. The sound of her name made her tingle.

"Why did you kiss me?" She asked. She needed to know if he had wanted a fling. She needed to know if what she had felt for a split second between them was simply wishful thinking on her part.

"Well... I never could resist a beautiful woman." He said with fast, deflective, good-natured humour. It was not what she was looking for.

She pulled herself away from him, sat upright, and looked him in the eye. "I'm serious."

He paused. She saw his chest deflate as he gave a long, quiet sigh. Suddenly, she was afraid of the answer he might give. What if all he wanted was a fling?

"This is about the discussion between me and Karliah, isn't it?" He said. "I knew you were listening. I saw you looking at me after it ended."

"I don't see the connection." Serana said. She wasn't at all surprised he'd known. He was a Nightingale, after all. Gold and jewelry were not the only things he stole.

"But I do." He looked at her, then away, mouth working with words that won't come out. At that moment, she wanted to hold him, to tell him that it actually didn't matter, but she stopped herself. She needed to hear him say it.

"You are like no one I've met before, Serana. You are strong, you are fast and you are the most beautiful creature I've ever seen. And most of all, you understand what it's like to be other than human. By all rights, I should be head over heels in love with you."

Her breath and her heart came to a halt as the words came. He had given her a beating heart, and now he was stopping it.

"But the problem is that... I have felt this way before." He gritted his teeth. "I have... been with other women, and for a time with them those words rang true as well."

Her still heart quivered as they hit her, drawing a trembling breath from her. She had expected this, expected the words, but they struck her regardless.

"I kissed you because..." He trailed off halfway, as if reluctant to finish what he had started. For the first time since she'd met him, she saw him truly afraid. "I kissed you because I couldn't help it. I thought it would tell me if you really were different, but... I still don't know." He looked at her, eyes wide and unfocused and glimmering with tears. "What are we?"

She moved back in then. This time, it was her who stilled the convulsions running through him. It felt right to her.

"We don't have to be anything. Not right now. We've known each other for less than a week, Arcturus, and I think we still have a long way to go."

She brought a hand to his face, feeling the stubble with her palm while she swept a thumb under his eyes. He stayed silent, as he usually did when he had a lot on his mind. He was not one to give voice to his thoughts. It was something she knew about him, and she wanted to know more and more.

"Take your time, Dragonborn. We have all that there is in the world." She whispered.

His uncertain smile brought back the warmth she'd missed. It was something only he could give her.

"Stay with me tonight." He said.

She wanted to say, 'no funny business,' but all that came out was, "of course."

She brought his bedroll over the both of them, keeping watch over him as he fell asleep once again. The beat of his heart kept her company through the rest of the night. Before long, she felt something stir within her, warm and fuzzy. It was more fulfilling than friendship and more wholesome than lust, and she didn't have a name for it. She decided to keep it that way. After all, it was different from anything she'd ever felt or heard before. It came from him. It was unique.


	18. Wrath

As dawn approached, Serana felt something jump out at her in her mind. She stirred and tried to get to her feet, only to find Arcturus' arms holding her down. She tracked down the rogue feeling that had caught her attention and found her eyes drawn to the edge of the horizon, where a lone pyramid of ice jutted from the otherwise flat plane. It had passed under her scrutiny many times over the course of the last few hours, but the distinct spark of life within it renewed her interest.

_Is it the hermit? _She wondered. According to Arcturus, an old man, after driving himself mad from studying the Elder Scrolls, had exiled himself here, at the frigid edge of civilisation. When they set camp for the night, Serana had tried to locate said hermit with her vampire senses. She had felt nothing.

_He most likely knows magic. _She thought. It had been her conclusion last night, before the thirst drove coherent thought from her mind. _But why drop his disguise now?_

A burst of red, sudden in both appearance and disappearance, yanked her pensive eyes back to the pyramid. Her senses called to her. She froze when she felt her fangs gently thrumming, responding to the call.

_Echoing _with the call.

"Arcturus." She tugged at his arm gently, just enough to wake him. His eyes sprang open the moment she touched him, and his hold around her loosened.

"What is it?" He asked. His voice was crisp and completely clear of the lethargy of sleep, and one of his now-free hands were already reaching for the dagger in his boot. It was as if he hadn't slept at all.

She moved off of him, pointing at the distance as she did. "You brought us here so I could keep an eye on that hermit's outpost, right?"

His brows furrowed in confusion. "What of it?"

"I just felt something there just now. It came and went, but something's wrong with it."

"Could it have been your breakfast calling?" He asked. His hand fell away from the dagger, and the tautness in his posture oozed away slowly. "I know you're not that picky with your diet-"

"Arcturus," she cut him off. "It was vampiric."

His eyes narrowed.

"I think it's one of my kind."

This time, the hand went to his sword.

"We'll find out soon enough." He stood, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. Serana frowned. What was he doing?

_"Laas." _She heard him whisper, and at the moment he did, something touched her. It seemed no different from the wind, almost as imperceptible, but she felt it go deeper than the goosebumps on her skin. It seemed to alight on her life force, staying for a split second, then disappearing. She felt a shiver run through her. As gentle as the word was, the power behind it was unmistakable.

Arcturus opened his eyes and doused the fire, now reduced to glowing embers, with a crunch of his boot.

"Let's go. We'll come back for the bags later." He said tersely.

_So it's true. It _is _a vampire. _Serana thought, momentarily transfixed.

Then, _how could I have missed it? _She felt like hammering herself in the chest. What if the vampire had already killed the hermit? It occurred to her that, in her indulgence in Arcturus' blood, she had diluted her instincts' sensitivity. She might have even cost them the mission.

"I'm sorry." She said, guilt swarming her thoughts, painting them grey.

Arcturus stopped strapping his elven quiver to his back and regarded her with curious eyes. "What for?" He asked.

"I didn't notice until it's too late, and it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't fed from you." She said, trailing off near the end. She shook herself and tried to gather what she needed, but Arcturus caught and spun her to face him.

"As opposed to... what? Starving yourself to death? That's hardly productive, Serana." He said, as gentle as he had been the night before. "Accidents happen. This is why we brought swords along, right?"

She did not know why, but his words filled her with colour. She felt her heart thump once, as if in a show of encouragement. She searched Arcturus' eyes and found the same encouragement shining in them, bright like gems caught in sunlight.

"So... you forgive me?" She asked tentatively, her cheeks flushing when she heard her voice come out as a child's would when her hands were caked with sweet roll.

He stepped closer to her. Her breath caught. What was he doing?

"Well, not for everything..." he favoured her with a lopsided grin. She knew where he was headed, and she wasn't sure if she wanted him there so soon.

He tapped a finger against the tip of her nose. "But at least you gave me something to look forward to."

She felt her uncertainty bloom into a smile despite herself. Arcturus released her, and she took a few moments to purge herself of the fuzzy feelings barrelling through her. She found Silverfang where she left it, propped against the far cliff wall, and clipped it onto her belt. The wind and snow were dying down, so there was no need for her fur-lined hood.

She looked over and found Arcturus donning his hood and mask. She watched as the features she'd become familiar to were swallowed by the black cloth, leaving only the glint of his cobalt eyes. They were the only things reminding her that he was the one inside, that there was a human underneath all that jet-black leather.

"Ready?" Arcturus asked her, jolting her from her thoughts. He had Fang in hand, the streamlined gold of its limbs a stark contrast with its owner's full-body black. "You should take the lead. I can cover you with Fang."

She breathed in deeply and nodded. Her heart thumped again, sending his charged blood throughout her system. It was all she needed. As she took her first steps into the open, however, she reached out with her senses one last time. Never could be too careful with vampires. She would know.

But there was nothing.

Her senses stretched out across the ice, expending itself like ripples in water, and all was quiet. No resonant pang. No splash of red. She felt a knot form in her stomach, but did not let it stop her, even as her every step added weight to it.

The land at her back soon fell away, and flat, translucent ice surrounded her in its place. She raised her head to the sun above, feeling caught between its battle with the cold rising from the ground. The hermit's private iceberg came into clear view, revealing a wooden trapdoor carved into its side. It seemed to be the only way in. She looked back. Arcturus was still behind her, his eyes gleaming behind his mask. _Lead on, _they seemed to say.

But was she the one leading, or the one being led?

_Like lambs to the slaughter._

Her grip on Silverfang twitched, and she yanked it from its sheath. It shook, as her hand did. The knot in her gut threatened to break the ice and drag her under.

"Something's wrong." She said, wanting - no, _needing _- his reassurance. "I think we're walking into a trap."

"I know."

"Then why are we-" She turned, not comprehending, but was silenced when one of his hands slid over her shoulder and squeezed. She felt electricity run through her with the single touch, and her tremors ceased.

"Sometimes you just have to spring the trap, and see what happens." Arcturus said, closer than he had been a moment before. "You know, take a few chances." His blue eyes met with hers, conveying something decidedly different from the steely resolve as befitted the occasion. "Look where it got me."

As he pulled away, she felt a surge of warmth fill her, tickling her in all the wrong places. It wasn't the least bit reassuring, but it felt so much better.

The ice grew thicker the further they went from the coast, turning from milky blue to solid white by the time they reached the trapdoor. Serana reached for the handle, shifted her grip on her sword, and tossed a glance to Arcturus. He was already eyeing the opening, bowstring pulled taut against his featureless mask.

She grunted. The trapdoor creaked open, and Arcturus stepped forward. She watched his expression closely, waiting for the sound of Fang's deadly bite.

_Thump. _Her heart went.

Arcturus unstrung his bow, slipped the arrow back into his quiver, and Serana released a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"Down the hole we go," he said, replacing Fang at his back and its string across his chest. His black Nightingale Blade slid from its sheath without a sound, and he turned around to give her one last look. That was when she felt it.

_Thump. _Her heart went, involuntarily sending a part of herself echoing across the ice, through the trapdoor, and down the hollow cave to which it led. It sought the resonant pang of her kind, and found it waiting at the cavern's end. But as the searching pulse returned to her, it found something else, something within her. It was a presence she had thought to be rid of forever. But she was wrong - it had not left at all.

_He _had not left at all.

_What are you prepared to do for this man? _He asked, his rasping, booming voice coming across the many planes of existence to mock her naïveté.

She tried to answer, but Arcturus was already gone, the only trace of him a dull thud somewhere far below.

_No._

She neglected the shoddy ladder in her haste, and the ice broke her fall with a glassy thud. Her heeled boots absorbed most of the impact, but she went on one knee for the rest of it, shrugging off the jolt to her bones. She stood to find Arcturus already upright, staring past the fire at the centre of the hollowed-out iceberg and the lopsided bookshelf at the side.

She followed his eyes.

_Thump. _Her heart went, and it did not repeat itself for a long, drawn-out moment.

Her eyes found the silhouette of a woman against the ice. A square of ruddy metal, adorned with symbols too old for her comprehension, framed her in the likeness of a disturbingly lifelike painting. A draft came from above. The fire wavered, imposing a flat version of itself on the glass between the metal framework.

"Our hermit did not exile himself here by chance." Arcturus observed, eyeing the metal and the symbols etched upon it. His eyes ran up and down, then blinked. "It's a Dwemer sphere."

"You've seen it before?" Serana asked.

Arcturus nodded. "Treasure chests, with locks that turn your mind upside down and inside out. The one I'd dealt with was this big." He separated his thumb and forefinger by a few inches, then turned away from her. When he spoke again, his voice carried over to the far end. "What I'm more interested in, though, is how _you _managed to get inside it."

The woman tilted her head, giving Serana and Arcturus a hint of her golden eyes. Serana caught how the twin pools of braids in her hair moved with her, and felt the past sink its fangs into her.

"I am a resourceful woman, Dragonborn." The woman said, her voice both melodious and sharp.

Serana felt old memories resurface, bringing with them the woman's name, her face, and the unforgettable feeling of abject helplessness, just as what one feels when cold stone closes over them for a thousand years.

"As you were resourceful when you found your daughter her prison? Turn around, Valerica, and see what a thousand years has done to your daughter." The words would have tumbled from her mouth anyway, but she spat them out for good, and extra, measure.

The woman turned at her words, slowly, and suddenly Serana remembered the last thing she saw, heard and felt a thousand years ago.

_"You're coming with me, aren't you?" She asked, tucking herself into the stone. Just a few seconds in, and she already felt them pressing into her._

_ "Don't be a fool, child. Should you father find the two of us together, he would have the whole prophecy in his hands. I won't allow that." Her mother answered. "The Daughters of Coldharbour shall not become his slaves."_

_ Her mother motioned with her hand, and a slab of stone rose from the ground at her feet._

_ "Be strong, Serana."_

_ The stone that would be the lid to her coffin rose to her ankles._

_ "Where will you be, mother?" She asked, hearing fear distort her own voice._

_ The stone came to her chest. It did not touch her, but she found it harder to breathe._

_ "I cannot tell you. If your father finds you, you cannot know."_

_ The stone came to her neck. It strangled her. She fought to keep her eyes open._

_ "Be strong, Serana."_

_ The stone came to her head, and her mother's eyes, cold, piercing and golden, were the last things she saw._

_ "The survival of our people lies with you."_

The image of her mother's face stayed with her long after the memory retreated into her mind. It filled her eyes, and she saw double - the mother here and now, standing in front of her with eyes seemingly filled with regret, and the mother that had stood over her grave, watching it close on her without a tick of emotion. They were one and the same... but not quite. The double vision played tricks on her mind, merging minute differences between what she saw and what she remembered. It certainly did not help that the differences were so small to begin with.

The woman spoke, and her words, both by their contents and the tones in their delivery, washed away her doubts like cool water.

"I am not your mother, Serana," the woman said quietly, almost meekly, "though I have _tried_."

_Well, _Serana thought, liberated, _that problem took care of itself._

With the woman's unexpected confirmation, Serana saw through the extensive lengths the woman had gone to mimic her mother's distinctively Nordic appearance. The roundness of her face, ostensibly a Breton trait, was filed out for Valerica's slanted, almost elflike features, and the corners of her eyes were made to slope towards her nose, as if in a permanent glare. But there was one thing the woman could not hide, and it was more her own than Valerica's.

"That's not something my mother would say." Serana said. "Still doesn't explain why you're dressing up like her, though. It _was _intimidating, for the first few seconds."

The woman's head hung low, as if in shame. She'd abandoned all pretense of Valerica easily.

_Too easily._

"It was enough for Lord Harkon. I reminded him of her." She said.

"To what end? My father hated-" Serana stopped herself. 'You' was at the tip of her tongue, but she didn't want to address her that way. She was just another pawn in her father's demented game. A placeholder. A reminder of what he'd given up. "My father hated my mother."

"I do not know. I did not need to know." The woman murmured. Her mouth kept working at the words, even after they'd been spoken. It was something she'd been told many times over. Serana glanced over to Arcturus. His sword was back in his sheath, and his eyes gleamed with curiosity. She elected to keep Silverfang in the air.

"Who are you, then?" She asked.

"I am named Arachne. I have been known as such for five hundred years." The woman replied obediently.

"And when did my father last call you by that name?" Serana asked. She had to know. She had to know how far her father had fallen.

"I do not remember."

"Vampires don't forget." Serana flicked the tip of Silverfang against the ice at her feet, hardening her eyes.

"I was told to. There was no use in fighting. If I did, Lord Harkon would beat me."

The words, coming from someone with the face and voice of her mother, struck her like a punch to the gut. It had happened before, before her family had shattered into pieces, and probably for the better. Her mother never mentioned them, but Serana had caught the marks on her face and skin. Plus, the castle echoed.

"Lord Harkon gave me my new life. He could take it away whenever he wished." Arachne recited the words. Similar words, buried under deep, unwanted memories, sent chills down Serana's spine.

_House Volkihar, where blood, domestic violence and domination runs in the family. _She mused, ignoring how fatalistic it sounded.

"My father must have valued you. Why did he send you here?"

"Lord Harkon deemed me the appropriate person to seek you out and bring you back to Castle Volkihar, with the second Elder Scroll for the prophecy." Arachne said. Her voice lost its edge towards the end, and she seemed to draw even deeper into herself. Her mouth worked for a few moments more, then the corners of her lips twitched. "He said you would listen to your mother."

Her voice was different. Authoritative. Commanding. Sharp.

Just like Valerica's.

The change was sudden, lightning-fast. It frightened Serana.

"You are not my mother. Even were you not wearing her skin, you stopped being my mother the moment you put me in Dimhollow Crypt. I don't need to listen to you." Serana said, defiantly. She did not, however, trust herself to say any more.

"You have listened to me for so long, and that is already enough." Arachne smiled. There was no more meekness in her voice, no more childlike innocence. The vampire had bared her fangs. "I have the Elder Scroll with me, and the cretin who knows how to read it. Now all I need is you, child."

Arachne stood aside, and Serana's eyes went wide. Atop a pedestal at the center of the sphere was a pair of golden handles, the parchment between them hidden from the world. An old man with a beard as white as the ice around him sat in the corner, curled into a protective ball. His hands scrabbled at his eyes, as if wiping away something he regretted seeing.

"I think you have missed the third party here, Arachne." Arcturus spoke up, stepping forward. His frame occupied half of Serana's field of view. The black of his armour reassured her. "All three of the above belong to me."

"Such a strong word, Dragonborn." Arachne said. "I am Serana's mother. Would you separate a mother from her daughter?"

Arcturus held firm. "There comes a time when daughters bid their parents farewell. Serana is a thousand years past that."

"You would let her face the perils of this world alone?" Arachne asked. She sounded uncomfortably like Valerica. Serana wondered, had things gone a different course, if her mother would eventually have such a conversation with her. If she did, would it contain the venom she heard in Arachne's voice now?

"No." Arcturus answered. His free hand reached for hers, and Serana shifted Silverfang to her off hand to link her fingers with his. They locked, and Serana shivered. "I would not."

It sounded as good an 'I do' as any other.

"Ah," Arachne whispered. Her eyes did not lose their gleam, but her voice lost its edge somewhat. "So I see."

"It matters little. You will not live to tell of it." Arcturus said. He squeezed her hand, and she let go, unwillingly. "You will die in that cage."

"Enlighten me on my demise, Dragonborn." Arachne smiled. "That salted stick of yours won't even dent Dwemer metal."

Arcturus stepped forward. Arachne did not step back. The glass between them seemed to thrum, sensing an intruder.

"The god who gave me my salted stick also taught me a thing or two about locks. There's a lock on this sphere here," Arcturus came to the center of the glass and tapped, "and when it opens," he exhaled quickly, rolling his eyes.

"Nothing challenges you, does it?" Arachne said. The edge in her voice was completely gone. She took a step back as Arcturus got to work.

"A lot of things do. One of them being the puzzle cube I cracked some time ago." Arcturus murmured. "Serana, keep an eye on her. She has nowhere to run, but make sure she does not hatch any funny ideas with our hermit in the corner."

Serana made sure Arachne saw her fangs. This was almost too easy.

_Too easy?_

"Serana." Arachne said. Serana met her eyes and found them burning with a new light. Was it her reflection, or was it Arachne's? "Ask yourself this."

She waited, but the question did not come from the trapped vampire.

It came from within.

_What are you prepared to do for this man?_

Serana froze. Arachne smiled.

_No._

She was again too late.

The glass rippled, folded in on itself, and disappeared into the metal frame. Arachne backed away, convincingly afraid. Arcturus drew his sword, stepped through the frame, and into the sphere.

With a metallic hiss, the glass reformed behind him.

_No!_

Steam billowed from the frames, hissing angrily. With it came six metallic tendrils, writhing at their joints. Their tips sprang open with a clear ring and became clamps.

They closed in on Arcturus, and Serana could only watch.

Arcturus reacted quickly and severed one of the snaking tendrils at its joints. But there were still five. One of them battered his sword aside and latched onto his neck. The other four went for his limbs, hoisting him into empty air. They spread him apart, eliciting a groan from him, and held him there, spread-eagle.

In front of Arachne, who kept her eyes on Serana the whole way.

Serana strode forward and thrust Silverfang into the glass, directing all her strength, and a sizable portion of her rage, into the stab.

Her blade found no purchase and bounced off, leaving her off balance.

Arachne clicked her tongue against her teeth, pacing around Arcturus' captive form to converse with her directly. "I taught you patience, did I not? Would a flower bloom sooner if you shouted at it?"

She was her mother, giving her lessons in the garden behind the castle.

She gritted her teeth. Fought not to scream.

She was not her mother.

"You are not my mother!" Serana shouted. Arcturus jerked in his bonds, but could not move. He stifled a groan when they clamped the fight out of him.

"Oh, but I am." Arachne said. "Your father said so, and he is anything but wrong. He said your heart would be in the wrong place."

"He has no right to lecture me on where my heart lies! Neither do you! Or are you just afraid he'd beat you, _Arachne_?" Serana said, the anger inside her crowing when the vampire scowled, threatening to burn the ice away. Her sword arm trembled. Silverfang was useless, so she threw it away.

"You think yourself in the right, child." Arachne said, her voice echoing with maternal regret. It sounded fake. It was infuriating. "You always did." She laid a hand on Arcturus' leg, immoblised by the Dwemer tendrils. "But you're wrong. If anything, you were wrong about him."

She remembered him taking his hand, linking his fingers through hers. It was everything but wrong. Not wrong. Never wrong.

"I can show you."

She felt her blood go cold when she saw the bone necklace at Arachne's neck, when the smiling vampire took hold of the centerpiece and the other jingling pieces crumbled to dust.

She felt the cold go to her heart when she saw the inky black tipping the sharpened point, when she realised that it was one of Arachne's fangs.

The blackened tip collided with the black of Arcturus' armour, a few inches left of the nightbird at his chest, and sank into his heart.

Arcturus' eyes rolled back, and he cried out. It sank deep.

Serana could not hold it in. She screamed, in both anger and anguish, with a rage that was both burning and helpless. She felt it kindle a spark inside her, running it through her veins, but she was powerless to heed what it meant.

"Listen, child." Serana's mother cooed. Serana listened.

"He never told you of his past, did he? Of the burning passion he had for the would-be queen?" Her mother asked. "The Rose of Imperial City. Yes. He had his fun with her, then left her to rot on an empty throne while wolves tear at her feet. What guarantee have you that he would not do the same? Love? He proclaimed that and more when he tried for Elisif's heart."

_That's not how it was! _Serana wanted to shout, but could not muster the voice to. She could only listen, like she was told to do.

Her mother twisted the off-white bone in Arcturus' chest, and he cried out again. His body convulsed this time as more memories were wrenched out of him.

"And what of little Brelyna Maryon? Did he tell you about her? Oh, he found her comely at first, with her wide red eyes, quiet voice and many reservations. But how he delighted in breaking down her walls, one, by one, by one." Her mother made every word count, drawing out every syllable in the end. Serana clutched at her head, sagging against the wall for support. "And now, even this close to the College of Winterhold, he let her flag alone in the winter wind. He'd forgotten her, Serana, as he would you when his task is done."

_It's already done! _Or was it? The terms of his contract, written or otherwise, only extended to ferrying her to the Dawnguard. Everything he'd done from that point onward was of his own volition... Or was it? They still had a long way to go...

"The memories are coming faster now. They did not even account for seconds in his mind, child." Arachne blinked, a smile coming onto her lips once again. "Ah, one much closer to the heart, but no less flippant. A kindred soul, bound to the same mistress in shadow and corruption. His thoughts of companionship turned base in the measure of days. You should see how he forced himself on her, Serana."

_He did nothing! I know! _But did she? Could she trust what Arcturus had told her? Could she trust either of them?

"And then there's you." Arachne said.

Serana's eyes sprang open, waiting for the falsehoods that would surely come. She waited, waited and waited, but they did not come. She searched Arachne's face and found an expression she did not expect.

Arachne was frowning.

_She found nothing. _Serana thought. Her mind turned inward. She did not need Arachne's words. She had her own memories to draw from.

_"Just so you know, I'm awake, and I don't bite."_

_"That... remains to be seen."_

_ Him taking off his cloak and wrapping it around her. She did not fear the cold, but she wanted his warmth._

_ "This is a trick. I will not let you feed on him!"_

_ "He needs me!"_

_ Him writhing on his table, in his own home. His sworn guardian could not protect her, but she could. He needed her, but no more than she needed him._

_ "We have quite a few things in common, don't we?"_

_ Him pressing a finger to her lips, closer to her than anyone had been for a thousand years. His eyes shone with life, with a desire barely repressed. She needed him more than ever._

_ "Did you like that?"_

_ "More than you can imagine."_

_ Her not pulling back when he pressed in, kissing her lips and sealing her fate. His rough fingers mapped out their course on her neck, marking her as she had marked him._

_ The feeling of his fingers locking with hers, holding them together for a moment that seemed like forever._

Serana opened her eyes and found Arachne still frowning. This time around, it was more severe, as if in desperation.

"What is it, Arachne?" Serana spat, seeing through her disguise again. She saw through everything. Her heart beat, sending a part of herself outwards, and she saw everything. "No more talking?"

"He-" Arachne started.

"_Stop_." Serana ordered, her voice low and dangerous. Her heart beat, and she felt Arcturus' heartbeat as she did her own. It was scattered and weak, but it was still there. The fire inside lit up again, burning as the pyre burned when Arcturus set it aflame with a single word.

_What are you prepared to do for this man?_

"You are a pawn, Arachne. You know it, but you embrace it. You are a monster, but a pawn nonetheless." Serana said.

"This pawn can kill your boyfriend with a twist of her fingers!" Arachne took hold of the fang still embedded within Arcturus.

"How?" Serana asked, feeling the fire burn brighter with each passing second. She could no longer deny it. Submitting to it was her only option. And it was a good option.

_What are you..._

_ A monster. _She found no reason to deny what she was

_Prepared to do..._

_ Everything._

_ For this man?_

_ Anything._

Serana locked eyes with Arachne one last time before it took over.

"How can you kill a dragon?"

She let the fire engulf her. It licked at her skin, dove inside, and wrestled control of every inch of her in between. She did not fight it. She merely watched as it changed her into a dragon. Her toes, growing claws drove furrows into the snow as the sphere shrunk in height. Her arms clenched as new strength rippled through her veins, etching new lines into her skin and sprouting talons from her fingertips. The seams in her clothing burst as she grew bigger and stronger, the cold air sizzling when it met her bare skin.

She blinked, and saw red as the dragons do.

She sniffed, and smelled Arachne's fear. She had never seen a dragon turn before.

She lowered her head to her height and roared, feeling the air hiss between her fangs. It excited her. She had Arcturus' blood inside her, and now she was a dragon. She was powerful. She would have him safe under her wings in no time.

Arachne backed away from the glass, as if it would protect her. Serana reached out and grabbed hold of the vampire, who had nowhere to run in the first place, through empty air. She saw her outstretched arm, taking note of the dull grey hue. There were no scales. Maybe they came later. It would have to wait until Arachne's breath gave out.

"Open the door," Serana hissed, holding Arachne by the neck and dragging her through the air. She came face to face with her. She could almost taste her fear. It was intoxicating.

"I can't!" Arachne choked out. Serana scowled. Once a liar, always a liar.

"Then you'll open it with your corpse."

She raised her to the roof of the sphere, which was not much, and slammed her into the ground. Then she did it again, and again, and again, until she could no longer see through the bloodstains on the glass. As some of the blood dripped to the floor, a pane of glass away from staining the snow red, she saw Arachne's corpse. A lot of her was bent where they shouldn't be. Serana snorted. No one could bend dragons.

The glass, much to her satisfaction, slid inwards. The tendrils fell away from Arcturus' limbs, and he took in his first full breath for what seemed like forever.

Serana slid into the sphere with him, noting with disinterest the mangled corpse of the hermit, still at the corner. She must have hit him with Arachne.

_Ah, well._

Arcturus collapsed, and Serana cradled him with a strong arm. She was the dragon now, and she had the power to protect him. She drooped one of her wings down, wanting to envelop him in the warmth she had, as he did her.

She couldn't. Her wings were too small, and took most of her back with it when she tried to lower them.

She growled in frustration and twisted round, wanting to see the problem for herself.

Then she froze.

There were wings sprouting from her lower back, all right. But they weren't dragons' wings. They did not span the entirety of the sphere. Nor could they fold into her back. They were crooked, ungainly and bony. They reminded her of the wings of bats.

_Bats._

The voice in her head came again, alive with depraved pleasure. It had won.

_You are a monster._

Serana put a hand to her face and felt, with growing horror, its warped, slanted contours. It dragged all the way to her ears, pulling her face back on both sides, and her fangs were out where the world could see. Her _vampire _fangs.

She was not a dragon, but a vampire.

"Serana?" Arcturus squinted. She pressed a hand to his face, pushing him away. Her talons almost dug into his skin. She pushed herself upright and tore at herself, groaning all the while.

_I am a monster._

_ And don't you ever forget that._

She turned around. Arcturus was looking at her. She felt her mind go blank, and her vision followed shortly after.

Time slipped by without her noticing, and she woke to the feeling of coldness against her arm. She forced her eyes open and saw Arcturus shadowing her. He had his arms around her.

"No..." She tried to wriggle out of his embrace, but he tightened it. He wouldn't let her go.

_Ever after you've seen what I am?_

"Serana, stop moving!" Arcturus said. His voice was clear and crisp, not hiding behind a mask. His armour was open to his shoulders, and bare skin dipped into his chest, where a black mark still pulsed. "It's hard enough to tend to that wound as is."

She stopped moving, but could not resist asking.

"Did you see..." She murmured. Her voice was hoarse. All that roaring...

"Every inch of you? Yes." Arcturus smiled. "And was it not a sight to behold."

She wondered at his smile. "It was my-"

"Your true form. I know. Haven't seen it before, but I have heard of it." He said, pressing a finger to her lips. His cobalt eyes gleamed. She felt herself seize up. No kissing. Not now. "Now shut up and rest. It must have taken a lot out of you."

_Only all of your blood. _She thought. Her body felt emptier than before, and the burning sensation had all but vanished. Did she dare to drink from him again, with what's happened?

And yet, with the absentminded way his fingers made their way through her hair, fiddling with her braid, she was not really sure what happened. He should have cut and run a long time ago. She would have.

Arcturus saw the doubt in her eyes and took it the wrong way. "I know it was a bit early to get naked, but... I think you saved my life with it." He propped her head up so he could look directly into her eyes. "And I swear to you, nothing Arachne said was true."

She shook her head. "It _was _true for you at the moment."

He began to retort, but she silenced him with a look. "Everyone has their lovers in life. Different ones at different times." She reflected briefly on how it did not apply to her, and decided to tell him about it.

"But, you _are _my first." She said. She had enough of his blood in her that her cheeks flared weakly. "In a thousand years."

His eyes glazed over with a film of tears. She reached up and wiped it away with a finger. It was pink with the cold, just the right size to fit under his eyes, and did not come with talons.

_I'm a monster, and it'll have to do._

"Gods, it might sound like I'm lying, but," Arcturus ran a finger down the side of her face, from her round ears to her round jaw, "you were beautiful."

"Flatterer." Serana smiled. Arcturus smiled, too. "You just want to see me naked longer."

"Human nature." He carried her as he stood up, then set her on her feet.

"Pig nature." She corrected, accepting his cloak as he moved to take the Elder Scroll. She wrapped it around herself. It was still warm.

"Only I get to see, though. I have the light-skinned version of your outfit in the saddlebags. It _is _the last version I have." He warned her as he pulled the straps that held his armour together. He left his mask in his hand.

Arcturus climbed up first. Serana cast one final look around the hollowed-out iceberg and the carnage at one of its corners, then followed her Dragonborn up the ladder.

_I am a monster. He doesn't care, so why should I?_

The sun was still out when the trapdoor banged shut behind her, and Serana draped Arcturus' hood over her head. It was different without his blood.

"Serana," Arcturus said ominously. She followed his outstretched finger and felt dread melt the warmth inside her.

Far above the cliff from which they came, angled towards the center of Skyrim to the southwest, a violet light danced in the sky.


	19. My Dragonborn

**/I know I used to do this quite a lot, and it got annoying, but it has to be said - BoredPerson: Thank you for that. Your words are precisely what I do this for. Well, a big part of what I do this for.**

**I know the fluctuating word count should be plenty annoying as well, but I can't think of any way to prolong this chapter to the 6,000 mark without making the kissing bit last a LOT longer. And that part comes later. So... enjoy!/**

Arcturus faced the rock wall and waited while Serana changed into the redundant outfit in the saddlebags. His eyes saw nothing but black rocks, but he could not waive what lay beyond them.

He raised his eyes higher, dismissing the rocks, to where the violet lights had painted the sky. His boot tapped against the snow, working the tension from his muscles self-consciously while his thoughts scrambled for rational, _natural_, explanations.

Naturally, it came up with nothing. It did not help the tension.

"You're awfully quiet back there. I hope you're not looking." Serana said. He heard the shuffle of clothing sliding over bare skin, and hoped that she was nearly done.

"Turn around and see for yourself." He answered, diverting just enough of his concentration to keep his voice blank.

"And show you the rest? You're not getting me that easy, Arcturus." She said playfully. "I know that pig nature of yours all too well."

It brought a short-lived smile to his face. Try as he might, he could not tear his eyes from the cliff wall. It faced the southwest, and with the amount of time he spent poring over maps, plotting routes for new fences and getaways for fellow thieves, he could not have missed where it pointed-

_Whiterun._

-or to whom.

_Lydia._

He heard the buckle on Serana's utility belt jingle and click, just as Lydia's did when she clipped on her sword.

"Done, and done." Serana said. He turned around to the leathery sound of the belt tightening around her waist. She had adjusted one of its straps to go around her shoulder, crossing her body from right shoulder to left hip, and fastened the two Elder Scrolls to her back. "I'll be carrying these, since you have Fang on your back."

_I am sworn to carry your burdens. _He heard Lydia's voice in his head. He had heard it, and the grudging acceptance in it, far too many times to forget.

_Not, _he thought, _to fight my wars._

Serana's eyes narrowed, their fire reaching into him. "What's wrong?" She asked.

"And you say you're not telepathic." He said.

"It's an acquired skill. But it's easier to see it in your eyes." She edged closer, her eyes beckoning.

She needed to know. Whether she was coming with him or not, she needed to know.

"Do you remember the mess I told you Skyrim is in?" He asked.

"The ban on Talos worship and the Stormcloak rebellion, right?" She said. Her eyes gleamed. _I did pay attention, _they said. He smiled briefly as Serana kept going. "If you're suddenly worried about that, then something must have happened between them and the Empire."

He shook his head, remembering the innkeeper's words. "There's a third party. It gave the Empire the balls to break the truce, it's leading the charge on the Stormcloaks, and it's operating separate of the Imperial army. I'll give you three guesses."

From how quickly her eyes widened, she needed only one.

"Harkon." Her hands clenched into fists, but the waning fire in her eyes belied something other than anger. He had not seen her angry often enough to recognise when she did, but the other emotion he saw, he had seen more than he needed when Arachne sprung her trap. "Looks, smells and feels like him."

"And from the fancy lights we saw on the ice, he's arrived at Whiterun." He said.

_And Lydia._

"At least we know where he is. It will give us time to find the last one." She said. He closed his eyes. He could _hear _the fear in her voice.

_Can you blame her?_

He shook his head. She saw it, and he knew which way she would take it.

"Wait, you're not thinking about going back to Whiterun." She said. It wasn't a question, because she already knew the answer. He could hear it. He opened his eyes and met hers. "You _can't_ think that."

"Serana, this is no coincidence." He said. "Your father is helping the Empire because we forced his hand. He is moving on Whiterun first, even though its neutrality would topple without a single casualty, because it was where the Dragonborn slew his first dragon. The stalemate might have gone on for a thousand years, but it has ended because of me."

Serana broke eye contact and paced back and forth. Her lips opened and closed, but formed no words. The only sound coming from her was the crunch of her boots as it trampled the snow. It bounced in his head, overlapping with her pacing, and before long it was the sound of an army on the march. He was running out of time, but he had to wait. He had made his decision, but she needed to make hers.

"Has it?" Serana asked. She locked eyes with him again, and the fire was back, stronger than ever. It did not matter. The ice has frozen over, and this time he was determined not to let it melt. "Think about what you're doing, Arcturus. This is what my father wants, for you to go save the world the first chance you get."

His ears prickled at the sound of her voice, and the proverbial high ground it came from. It made him feel like a child, being lectured on the ways of the world, and he fought the urge to bristle.

"We accomplish nothing by running, Serana. What happens when we find the last Elder Scroll? We cannot destroy them. Nor can we hide them from your father. The past thousand years are proof of his persistence, and now that he has our scent, his relentlessness comes into play. You know this." He said, keeping his voice level. It only served to fuel Serana's frustration, and he averted his eyes when her boot thudded into the saddlebags.

_I'm right, and she knows it._

"This is bigger than you, Arcturus. You, and Whiterun, and whatever the rest of the holds are." She stopped, facing the cliff wall, and shot him a fiery glare. "You can't save everyone."

He felt something crack inside him. Her eyes stung, her words stung, but the truth in them stung even more.

It stung as the arrow and sword must have stung when young Lord Tyrian and old King Torygg felt them push through their chest and into their hearts; It stung as Irileth's eyes had stung when she found him, and only him, standing atop the ruins of Whitewatch Tower, the bodies of the men she was responsible for piled around him.

_You can't save everyone._

Her words stung, because she was right.

"And what would you have me do? Run and hide while innocent people die for us?" Arcturus demanded, hearing his voice rise and feeling his muscles lock. Every beat of his heart pumped fresh fury through his veins, and in it, he found the means to block out the truth, and how badly it stung.

"Their lives would be worth it." Serana said. He bristled at that. How could she?

"How do you measure that worth? By the divinity that runs in their blood, or by the number of Daedric Princes that have laid claim to them? And what of honour? Loyalty? Compared to Dragonborns and vampires, are they nothing?" He said, every word louder than the last. His train of thought strained the limits of his lungs, and he felt his breathing come along faster and harder.

He looked into her eyes, ready for the stinging reply, but what he found instead was silence. It was a silence of contemplation, and he felt Serana's eyes, dazzling gold tinged with a simmering orange, search his.

_Honour. Loyalty. _He thought, wondering where they came from.

He found the answer shortly, at the forefront of his thoughts. He tried to avert his eyes, but it was too late.

"Just whose life are we measuring, Arcturus?" Serana asked. "Ordinary people? Or the honourable, loyal housecarl you left there for safekeeping?"

He had no answer, so silence stepped in. It was as good an answer as any, but he could not stand it.

"Serana..."

"Don't." She turned away from him. Her balled fists unfurled and lay limp at her sides. "Mockingbird, right?"

The single word reached through armour and skin and bone and stabbed him in the heart. "That's not the way I think about her." He said.

"Then what is, Arcturus?" She turned back, and the fire was gone, washed away by the tears rimming her eyes.

"You know I don't think about her that way. Arachne did not speak of her."

"You expect me to believe _Arachne _now?" Serana asked, her voice low and weak, devoid of the trust he had once heard. It cut him about as deeply as he did her, and his suit of armour came to protect him. It told him to walk away, to leave the Elder Scrolls to her and ride westwards and southwards. But he couldn't. He had shed his suit of armour for her, and he no longer found the will to put it on again.

"Serana," he said, feeling the anger and apprehension drain away, leaving him defenseless, with nothing between him and the truth. He just hoped she could hear it. "You know Lydia. Before all this," he touched a hand to the nightbird on his chest, "she was the one who looked after me, who never left my side, even when I brought dragons down on her head. If it was anyone else, I'd let give myself the benefit of doubt and leave Whiterun in ashes. But not her. I owe her too much." He stopped himself there, readying himself for the words to come. He never thought he would say them, nor did he ever want to say them, but for her sake and his, he had to.

"I would understand if you... didn't come along. The Elder Scrolls will stay with you, of course, and you should find safety with the Guild, at least until you can arrange passage further east, out of Skyrim." He said, and as he did, he felt a numbness settle over him, as if his senses were leaving his body with every syllable.

_This is it. _He thought. _This is Sovngarde all over again, only a thousand times worse-_

Something hit him across his right cheek. Hard. It stung, almost as hard as what she had said, but the feeling was different. For one, it nearly took his head off his shoulders, and as he ran a hand across the area of impact, he felt heat - real, red-hot heat - flood to his skin.

He turned back to Serana, thoroughly bewildered, and it hit him again. This time around, it knocked his senses back into him, and he heard the shallow, diminutive _slap _as it jerked his head to one side.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of Serana's dainty hands return to her side. It had nowhere else to go, and with the force of the two blows knocking him back into their makeshift shelter, neither did he.

"Don't you dare say that again." Serana said, hurt and anger setting her voice aquiver. "You are not leaving me behind, you hear? Not after what you've given me."

She stepped forward. He stepped back. His back hit the wall. His arms rose to avoid the impact, and she caught one of them by the wrist. He fumbled, not knowing what she intended, and tried again to make her understand.

"You don't understand, Serana. I'm not doing this for the prophecy anymore. You don't have to-"

Then he stopped. His jaw worked for the merest of moments, but it soon lost the energy to do even that, because that was when Serana put his captive hand on her chest. She pressed it to one side, a few inches from the valley between her breasts, and he felt something underneath respond to his touch.

_Thump._

Serana blinked. Tears escaped her lashes and ran down her cheeks like droplets of liquid gold.

_Thump. _It went again, despite his hand not moving an inch.

It was not in response to his hand. It had been there all along.

"I don't think you're hearing it well enough."

She tackled him against the wall and knocked the wind from him. He felt her breath on his skin, just above the shoulder. She was just tall enough to reach it. He heard the sound of something breaking free.

Serana hissed.

Then she bit him.

Arcturus cried out at the feeling of her fangs biting into him with none of the gentleness he had previously felt. She growled and shook him, and the pain locked him into place as she tapped his artery. The cold seeped through him in an instant, but there was no numbing warmth to balm it. The pain lingered in him, but there was no pleasure to hide it. This time, he realised, there was no venom.

_Thump._

His eyes, originally clenched to hold the pain, snapped open. His hand was still on her chest, trapped against their bodies, and it felt the jump as surely as he himself heard it.

_Thump._

The blood reached the wound in his neck. Serana moaned into his skin and into the blood that came rushing to meet her lips.

_Thump thump._

Serana bit deeper into him, and he grunted when the pain became more acute. His other hand reached up, behind Serana's tilted neck, and pushed her further in. This time, there was no venom. This time, the pain was real, and so was her heartbeat.

_You are not leaving me behind._

"But what about your father? Are you not afraid of him?" He asked.

He felt the sting when she pulled her fangs from him, heard the crisp _snick _when they slid back into their sheaths, and saw the fire in her eyes once more. It was her fire, and it burned for no one else but him.

"Yes," she whispered, telling a truth only he could hear, "I fear him."

Then she leaned in and told him another.

"But I love you more."

She moved away from his ear to face him. He held her there.

"Say that again." He said. He pleaded. He needed to hear the words again, from the only woman who could make him happy, angry, and everything in between.

She smiled, because she knew he finally understood.

"All five words? Or just the three?"

He did not wait for her. His hand closed around the back of her head and brought her lips to his, him with his head down and her on her tiptoes. He turned his head, molding to the shape of her mouth and moaning at the taste of blood on it. His hand shifted to the left, where the swell of her breast was, and squeezed.

She shivered, relinquished the whole of his mouth, found his lower lip, and bit. He winced at the pain, but welcomed it. It was real. _She _was real.

He broke the kiss, gasping for breath. Her tongue danced on his lower lip and pulled him back in. She pressed in even closer, threatening to dislocate his trapped arm, so he slid it out and around her waist. He knew he made the outfit tight-fitting for a reason.

She broke the kiss, waited for him to find her again, and mewled in surprise when he went for her neck instead. It was fitting, he thought. It was where she had marked him. The blood was still flowing on his neck, so he trailed his lips along her skin, occasionally lapping at what wasn't there and making her squeal with a pleasure that tickled both of them.

Her fingers travelled down his spine, and he shuddered. He wanted more with this woman, and he had an idea how to get it.

His hand ghosted below her belt, feeling the fabric beneath his fingers change from cloth to roughspun leather. He felt her stiffen, and he grinned in the crook of her neck.

He felt hands push at his chest, and he quickly snapped his head up. Serana looked down at him, and despite the contented smile on her lips, she was shaking her head. That in itself was unmistakable.

_No._

He backed away reluctantly, uncertainty almost staying his hand a number of times. He shook the hand that had gone below her waist, as if ridding himself of something dirty, while Serana moved her braid back to one of her temples.

_Me and my hand._

"I'm sorry." He said.

"No, it's me. I..." Serana stepped back and regarded him with wavering eyes, and, just like that, they were moved from matters of life and death to confusing sexual tension. "I'm just not ready."

"Okay." Arcturus said. It sounded sheepish, even to himself.

"But I'm coming with you." She said. Unlike her previous words, there was not a shred of doubt.

Arcturus felt his heart sour. This time, however, it was not because the Elder Scrolls would be in danger, or for the sun that the world may never see again. This time, it was just him and her.

"It's the two of us against them, Serana. There's no telling how many your father has brought." He said. Then he added something else, because there was no sugarcoating it. "We might die."

Dainty fingers closed around his jaw and forced him to look at her.

"Then we die. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be awake in the first place." Serana said. When she was sure he would not look away, she trailed her hand down his chest and tapped him where his heart was. "And you've done so much more than that, haven't you? You've woken me to a world with you in it, and I'd rather die with my father's blood on my hands than live out the rest of my eternity in a world without my Dragonborn."

The tension drained from him, replaced by something that set shivers running through him, from the beating vessel in his chest to the gloved tips of his fingers. He took her hand with those same fingers. It was the hand that had stung him, bringing him back from the depths of despair, and gods be damned, he was not going to let go.

"I will not be the only Dragonborn in your eternity." He teased her.

"No," Serana answered, "but only you will be my Dragonborn."

Never had he been so happy to be taken possession of.

They made the climb back to Winterhold together, the saddlebags on his back, the Elder Scrolls on hers. He dimly remarked on how lonely it would have been to make the trek alone, with no one but Lynette for company.

He rounded the stable wall and thanked the wary-eyed stablemaster for his troubles, then led the black-maned warhorse into the snow, where Serana stood waiting with her hood down.

Lynette seemed to take note of Serana's presence much more than his, and turned to him when she came into view. Her dull, grey eyes bore into him with an emptiness that seemed almost interrogatory.

_Is it done, then? _Her raspy, horselike voice came alive in his head, and he chuckled.

_No, Lyn. _He said, patting her by the snout. She nickered with annoyance.

_We are far from done. _He thought.


End file.
